The Way I Love
by Troypayisbetter
Summary: He wasn't so sure how she made him feel anymore. But that was a problem, because she was Arthur's girl; she belonged to him. But he didn't know if he actually liked that thought. Because, he's pretty sure he's starting to wish he was Arthur. Which is odd
1. Chapter 1

The Way I Love

-Inception-

The sun beat down hard on his shoulders as he made his way down the street, toward an unassuming black bricked building on the corner of 35th and Lexington. Around him, civilians wandered slowly and aimlessly down the block, their eyes roaming window displays and their minds fully preoccupied. A few bratty kids flew down the street, or screamed for a toy, and he shut his eyes to submerge the boiling annoyance. His eyes darted back toward the outline of the building…and he could have sworn he saw one architect enter the building like it was something she did every morning. He smirked. They were on schedule.

The walk up to the building was common red brick, dulled from the sun and cracked from years of battery from the elements. The front doors, dark hickory from what he could remember, stood ajar and inviting. The bay windows looking out from the front toward the street showed no sign of life behind them. Instead they shown with a clear brilliance and he was glad he had shades on. He glanced up toward the glass walls of the second floor—the flutter of a yellow scarf from the window…another sign. He nodded, and entered.

The chair behind the heavy front desk spun quickly, and his gun was raised and ready before Arthur came into view. "Mr. Eames."

"Bloody hell Arthur. Don't do that. I was about to shoot you."

He smirked. "Nervous?"

He scoffed. "You wish."

"Ariadne is upstairs. I'm going to wait here for Cobb and Yusuf…make sure nobody _else_ comes snooping around too."

"Right. I'll tell her you said 'hi' lover boy." Ever since he had caught Arthur kissing Ariadne at the warehouse after hours four months ago, he hadn't let him live it down. And why should he? It was the first real relationship he knew Arthur had been in since he had known him—the first one in years.

The metal stairs leading up to the second floor was scuffing the bottoms of his shoes, and he gritted his teeth once again. Upstairs, the hardwood was smooth and polished, without a blemish on its surface. A few black leather chairs were placed strategically around a dark coffee table, a sunbeam fell smoothly onto its surface, reflecting toward the gray wall across the room.

Ariadne was standing with her arms hugging her body against the far wall, staring intently at the blueprint in front of her—one last look over so that nothing could go wrong. Her head snapped upward, her bangs falling over her left eye when weight made the floor creak. She smiled.

"Jon"

"Addie" He was the only one allowed to call her that. He suspected Arthur had his own—more private name for her and he wondered why the thought left a slightly sour taste in his mouth. He shook his head and enveloped her in a quick hug, and his eyes brightened when he smelled the faint fragrance of orange spreading from her hair.

"Trying a new shampoo love?"

"Conditioner, actually. Do you like it?"

"Love it, darling."

There was a soft sound of someone clearing their voice, and he turned out of Ariadne's embrace to find Arthur, Cobb, and Yusuf on the stairs.

"Having fun?"

He smiled at Cobb, and took pleasure in the dark look that took hold of Arthur's face for a brief second. "Don't worry darling, I'm not here to steal your pretty little girlfriend. Don't look so upset."

Arthur blushed crimson red and turned from their view, going over to the coffee table to set up the PASIV.

"So, we all know what we do?" Quick nods from the others.

"No surprises Arthur?"

His face was stone set, but anger danced in his eyes. "No surprises." He forced out, sending a PR smile at Cobb before walking over to Ariadne and kissing her head. "Are you sure you want to come?"

"Yes. I promised I'd stay out more for you, but I'm using this as a little…farewell…I guess."

"Thank you." He heard Arthur mumble into the crook of her neck, holding her close to him. He grimaced.

Ariadne looked slightly upset, but then her eagerness returned. "He should be here soon. Should we get ready?"

Arthur pulled back, kissed her on the head, and then turned back. Yusuf, you're in that back room, untill we give you the signal…you remember what that is don't you?"

"Yes…yes." He mumbled. 'Honestly…you'd think my IQ was under 156." He slammed the door shut, and there was a huff, a crash, and a curse. Ariadne giggled, and he found his own smile forming.

"Ariadne, you'll be—no surprise—the master architect on the project. That's why I told you to study the special blue print. You did—didn't you?" Cobb's voice was only slightly uneasy.

"Yes. I promise."

"Arthur, you're my assistant. I think you're more than ready." Arthur nodded, his face set. He could see his bloody cogs whirring.

"Eames…you're—regrettably the secretary. Now, no shit. I don't need him to walk out of here."

"Honestly Cobb, where is the trust? When have I _ever_ led this group astray?"

"Well there was the time you accidently poured wine on the Duchess of Bordeaux." Ariadne offered with a smile.

"Or the time in Spain when you made fun of Rickey Martin and the mark got angry and tried to punch you" Cobb said with a smirk.

"There was that one time—"

"Alright, let's not bring up unpleasantries shall we?"

Yusuf huffed from behind the door, not pleased that he had been interrupted. He crossed the room, and stood against the railing. "When does he get here? I'm itching to get started."

"Heads up." Everyone turned to see a limo pulling up along the side of the street. A few pedestrians stopped and stared, and one took a picture before walking on. The group quickly scurried behind Eames down the stairs. He fell heavily against the desk, before flopping down in the seat and busied himself with fake paperwork he 'borrowed' from Arthur's desk. From the corner of his eyes, he watched Ariadne as she examined another blueprint, her eyes furrowed. She motioned to Cobb and there was a quick and heated conversation before they were silenced by the door ringing quickly.

He only looked up from his work when the mark—a Mr. Franco Lewis—reached the desk and began tapping his feet. "Ah hello. Welcome to Sunset Design…how many I help you? Do you have an appointment?"

He waited untill Lewis started to speak, and then purposefully called the front desk. He held up a finger, and Lewis frowned. He suddenly had a hard time keeping a straight face. He pretended to listen for a few seconds before almost standing violently. "WHAT! I TOLD you SPECIFICALLY that MR. DECRESIO ONLY LIKES WHOLE WEAT! We can't just GIVE him plain white! He'll murder us both…and then FIRE us!" The mark looked angry, and he cleared his throat. "FINE. I'll be calling you back in a few seconds. Don't THINK this is over." He hung up, and then calmly looked back up at Lewis.

"Sorry about that, let me page Mr. Decresio." He paged him over the intercom, and Cobb entered with his arm's spread. "AH! Mr. Lewis. I trust your ride over was smooth and uneventful?"

"Very."

"Please, this way. Our best architect has been looking over your specifications and has come up with a blueprint we both think you will enjoy."

"Perfect."

As they walked away, he heard Lewis remark about the poor behaviors of his secretary.

"Sorry, he's new. Won't happen again."

He sniggered.

"This is your best architect?" The contempt in his voice made her almost want to slap him across his face. Almost.

"Yes. Very ingenious. Did some work for the president's summer vacation home a few months ago and he hasn't been able to shut up about it."

"THEE President?"

"Of course, who else? Now, Ms. Atwood, please show Mr. Lewis your design."

She led him over to the table, and began showing him the fake blueprint for his military instillation. It was almost a relief when Arthur came scurrying carrying 'fresh spring water from the Alps (_of course it was imported, nothing else was better!_) for all three of them, Lewis' laced with sleeping draught. He was out in seconds.

"That ASS!"

"Calm down Ariadne. Your emotions are getting the best of you, and that will mess with the dream if you aren't careful." She huffed, and looked down, but Arthur's strong hands on her shoulders and his thumbs making swirling motions on her arms calmed her down quickly. "Fine. Thank you."

"Anything for you." He froze. "EAMES I CANNOT believe what you just pulled! That could have ruined the whole MISSION!"

"Oh darling, relax, it's going fine and nothing is ruined. He smiled and Ariadne almost laughed.

"We need to move him upstairs for the PASIV. You give Yusuf the all clear Ariadne."

She nodded and then ran up the stairs, tapping twice on the wall against the stairs three times in succession. The door opened again and Yusuf stumbled out. "About time" he mumbled, but she just smiled.

"He's bloody fucking heavy darlings."

"Shut up Eames." Cobb panted.

"Oops, he hit his head on the railing…he'll have a bruise for a few days."

"EAMES!"

They laid him unceremoniously on the floor, and hooked him up. Then with nods, they laid down gently on the floor—Ariadne took the couch since she was a lady—and with a quick nod from Yusuf, plunged the needles into their veins as Yusuf pushed the button.

They awoke again in a museum, glass windows shining light onto the marble floor in large bands. Cobb looked around happily for a few seconds, before feeling the presence of another and turned to face Ariadne. "This is amazing. The paintings all look so real."

"You'll have to thank Arthur; he took me to see them a few times."

"I'll remember that." He whispered, moving slowly toward a painting on his left.

"Common Cobb, it's time to find the others"

They walked a short distance along a peculiarly empty hall filled with sunshine and statues untill they came across the others near the bathrooms. "Bloody hell, you couldn't make some furniture Ariadne?"

He stood up, and fell silent, nodding as his eyes swiveled around the room. "It's wonderful though darling."

"Let's go find Lewis. I left him in the pavilion, just past where Cobb and I ended."

"It's strange. Why aren't there any projections? I knew your mazes were good Addie, but not this good."

"It's….not me. Something else is doing this."

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

The glass windows around them blew out, and with a shriek she was on the ground, the others around her…or at least most of them. "COBB!"

He was lying in a pool of his own blood, his body fading quickly as he awoke.

"Fuck. We just failed. Arthur I thought you said he wasn't trained!"

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

"Nothing showed up! I…there was no record!" he screamed over the shots. "I can…I think I can still get the information though, all I need to do is find him!"

"Right…I'll distract him. You go with Addie and find him!"

He nodded, and grabbing her hand, pulled her up off her feet. A shard of glass cut her knee.

They hadn't made it half way down the hallway when an explosion rocked the building.

"They THREW a fucking GRENADE!"

"Good luck!" Arthur screamed back, pulling her faster.

"Stay safe!" She called back, staring behind her untill he was lost to view."

They had barely gotten around the corridor when there was a loud, sickening sound of gunfire and Ariadne shrieked. He threw himself off the floor, his heart pounding in his chest, thoughts of Ariadne lying in a pool of blood on the floor propelling him faster. But when he reached the next hallway, he discovered that it wasn't Ariadne, but Arthur that was lying in his own blood. She was leaning down into him, his head in her lap, begging him to stay with her. She looked up to see him and called desperately.

"Common love, we have to finish this."

"But...Arthur…"

"He'll wake up. Don't worry."

She nodded, wiping tears. "I know where he is, common!"

"They fled down the hallway, the distant sounds of pounding feet behind them.

His eyes roamed around the room, settling on a metal door. "What is that?"

"A…supply closet?"

"Stay there untill this is over. I don't want you hurt. If you are…Arthur will kill me—no pun intended. And the dream will collapse."

"But…"

"Please love…"

She nodded, and kissed his cheek, holding him for a second before locking herself in the closet.

Running on, he threw himself up the stairs, dodging a bullet that flew close enough to rustle his hair. Pushing open the door, he staggered and then fixed himself before barricading the door and making his way over to the mark.

He could now understand why Ariadne had placed him in this room. War paintings hung from the walls, and a memorial for the Vietnam War lay in the center. Plus, there was only one door. He walked up behind him, and remarked "lovely paintings"

"Why yes, they are quite good."

"Intriguing indeed. Makes you wonder what's in those secret military instillation bases doesn't it?"

"Oh…It's not that hard to figure out, not really."

"Really?"

"You just have to dig around a little and find out what they're interested in."

"So…what are you interested in then?"

"Me?"

"Yes."

The walls shook slightly and dust fell from the ceiling. A shrill scream came from outside the door. _The projections had found Addie._

"I'll tell you a secret then. It's ingenious really. I've been buying up land in the remote jungles of Uruguay, and I'm planning—once it's done anyway…to build my weapon."

"Weapon?"

"A bomb so powerful it could literally wipe half a country off the face of the earth. Imagine what countries like Iraq and Afghanistan could do with such a bomb? Imagine the money?"

The walls were crumbling suddenly. There was a crash, and sections of the ceiling blew down from the sky. The ground shattered and collapsed, the paintings falling from the walls and the Vietnam memorial was swallowed up. And then he woke up to screams.

**Hey guys! I hope you like it! Now the big question is who's screaming? And how does Eames feel about Ariadne? So the question is this: should this be a one sided fic, or should Eames somehow steal Ariadne away from Arthur? ;) Talk to you guys later! Reviews make the world go round (and give me a big stupid smile). Thanks for reading! Review please!**


	2. Storms On the Horizon

**I don't own Inception. Just Lewis. **

Storm's On the Horizon

_Boom! Boom!_

_She pushed herself up against the cluttered wall, her head bumping the lowest shelf and a bottle of cleaning fluid clattered to the floor. Blue liquid spilled lazily across the tile, slicking it. She clutched the gun tightly. Her eyes were wide, sweat was running down her face and her breath was caught in her throat. They were trying to get in. _

_Boom!_

_The door was bending. It was pulling away from the frame._

_BOOM! _

_She hoped Eames was getting the information they needed now, because she was pretty sure she wouldn't be lasting much longer in this dream. Her thoughts wandered to Arthur, lying on the floor, the rose blossom slowly spreading across his lower chest. She stifled a sob. _

_BOOM! _

_The door burst off its hinges and clattered to the floor. Men were pushing themselves to get into the room and she screamed, raising the gun and firing into the crowd. A few fell, but then more were coming, each with a wicked smile. Tears fell from her face as they surrounded her. Her clip was empty. It was over. _

_The first hit caused her to scream so loudly she wondered if Eames could hear it. She hoped he could. Then he would know he only had a few more seconds. And then fists and feet were slamming into every part of her body. The shard of glass lodged in her knee was pushed deeper and she cried. The walls were starting to shake. A tile fell from the ceiling. She cried, holding her head and turning on her side, her blood mixing with the solvent. She was dying. The walls around her were cracking and the lights were flickering first to a blinding white and then to a dull shine. She tried to stay alive for as long as she could…anything to keep the mission from becoming the disaster that the Cobol job had been. But she succumbed to the darkness all too soon. And she woke up. _

Arthur was by her side the second she awoke, his warm hands gripping her arms, his thumbs running circles along her skin. She wiped at the tears on her face and he held her for a second before she pushed away to pull the IV from her arm. Gasping, she looked around. Cobb had a less than happy look on his face. And Eames was still under. With shaky breaths she pushed her legs over the side of the couch and stood, leaning against the arm rest. And that's when the worst fight she had ever seen started.

"God DAMMNIT! I told you to check EVERYTHING!" There was fire in Cobb's eyes.

"I Did! I ran a COMPLETE check on his background! It didn't show anything." His face was read, his arms shaking.

They were in each other's faces and Ariadne was in shock.

"FUCK that! You're too busy SCREWING Ariad—"

Arthur had punched Cobb across the face. She screamed.

"STOP IT!" She sounded desperate.

"DON'T bring OUR relationship into this Cobb. YOU of ALL people have no right to EVER bring our relationship into this SHIT!"

"I have a RIGHT! It's MY team!"

"No. It's OURS! And after your little FUCK UP with Mal you're in no position to bring up relationships!"

Eames was stirring, triumph in his eyes. She was in tears again. The mark. What about him?

Cobb threw a punch and she screamed again as they crashed through the table. Yusuf was looking on in sick curiosity as he slowly packed up the PASIV. She fell back onto the couch in surprise when Eames showed up in the middle, wrenching them apart and throwing Arthur down next to her. Cobb went into the table with a grunt, the blueprints scattering.

"STOP IT! The mark's going to wake up any bloody minute! It's time to stop this. We can continue this…whatever the hell it is later!"

Too late.

"Who the hell are you people?"

He was sitting up in horror. She was beyond pissed now. At everyone. Surely they could act like professionals long enough to stay safe. With a grunt she kicked him in the temple and he collapsed onto the ground.

"NOW! WE can settle this SHIT later! Everyone MOVE!" She screamed.

With glares they exited the room, making sure that there was no trace of them ever being there. Yusuf left first, his chemicals tucked secretly in a black leather briefcase. Next is Eames, glancing behind him worriedly. He hugs her tightly and slips a piece of paper in her hands before pushing open the glass door and slipping on his shades. Arthur grabs her hand and pulls her out the door, without a glance at Cobb, who's still fuming. It's going to be a long day.

Back in their apartment, she sighs, leaning against the counter and holding her head in her hands. She needs a drink. Arthur has already stormed into the bedroom, and she flinches when the bedroom door slams shut. She feels tears creeping into the corners of her eyes, and a lump forms into her throat. Pulling out a bottle of water from the fridge, she makes her way down to the bedroom. She can hear him shuffling around and the dressers slamming.

She knocks tentatively. "Arthur?"

"WHAT?" He's furious, but she didn't do anything.

"Arthur, are you ok?' She tries the door and finds it unlocked. She enters to find him looking out their window, his back tense.

"Do you think I'm ok?"

"Arthur…I didn't do anything wrong."

He sighs, a hand over his eyes as he sits on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. It's just…"

"Just what?" She's nervous he's going to do something they'll both regret.

"Maybe…Cobb was right." He turns to face her. "Maybe…I am so preoccupied with _this_" he motions between them "that I'm making rookie mistakes."

She sucks in breath and feels the tears again. "How…could you say that. It was a simple mistake. Nobody is perfect and I'm sure—"

"That's just it. I'm the fucking point man Ariadne! I'm supposed to be fucking perfect!" He throws his tie across the room and stands up violently.

"No Arthur. That's not true. You're the Point Man but you don't have to be perfect. You're already perfect."

He sighs. "I'm not so sure…"

"Please don't"

"…that this is going to work."

She sucks in breath again and the tears start to fall down her face, hot and stinging.

"Arthur…"

"I need some time. I'll be out. Don't wait up." He says it with no emotion and that shocks her enough to stay on the bed, even as Arthur grabs his leather jacket and leaves the house. She flinches as the front door slams shut. Then the sobs wrack her, and she collapses face down into the bed.

Lewis awoke with a start, his pounding head feeling like he had just run head on into a brick wall. Where was he? On the floor—that was obvious. But…where was here?_ Oh wait, the studio. Who the hell were those people? Who was that bitch that kicked him in the face? _

His mind was reeling, caught in the memories of the past couple of hours. That dream had been oh too real. Someone had tried to break him in his mind. And they had succeeded. He growled. He would find them. And he would make them pay.

He whipped out his cell phone and pressed two, waiting as it rang twice.

"Charles. Pick me up. We have work to do."

**So tada! Chapter 2! I hope it turned out well, and that it wasn't confusing. Dun dun dunnnn. What's Arthur going to do? What was that note Eames slipped to Ariadne? And can Lewis find them? Review are love. And make me smile really cheesey. Lol. Thanks for reading! Review!**


	3. An Unexpected Twister of Fate

An Unexpected Twister of Fate

Sitting at a dingy table in the back of a darkened, shady bar, he sipped on his scotch, watching the tendrils of cigarette smoke waft around the room, dispersing above as it hit the fans turning slowly on the ceiling. He was getting a little worried. Sure, being a couple did entitle you to a few more _activities_ but even those didn't take all night—not unless they were trying for something and he really wasn't looking forward to a mini-Arthur running around. Although, thinking back, that couldn't possibly be it. Arthur was traditional…he wouldn't dream of having a kid before walking down the aisle and he was sure Addie felt the same. Plus, if something like that had come up, Addie would have called and told him that they would have to reschedule. She knew how he worried for them both. Something wasn't right.

He had just swallowed the rest of the shot and was heading back toward the bar when his phone went off. His private phone. And only four people knew that number; his mother, Arthur, Addie, and Cobb.

"Hello love! I was getting worried."

"_Eames_" she slurred. He frowned, and stopped walking.

"Are you ok?"

"_Eames…I'm…I'm dooooing finne._"

"You don't sound fine love." He paid the bill and left, sucking in the cold air as he made his way toward his car. "Where are you love? Where's Arthur?"

"_I'm at my apartment silly._" She giggled and Eames choked back a laugh. "_Arthurr is propably out fucking some whore or getting hit by a car. Can you come over?_"

He was in the car now, backing up so quickly he almost hit a trashed couple walking down the middle of the street.

"I'm on my way love. What do you mean? He's not there?" _That wasn't like Arthur. He was always making sure that she was ok. It's what he did._

"_We had a fight Eamess. He doessn't want a relassonship anymore. FUCK HIM!_"

"What? I'm sure that's not true love. Where is he? Put him on the phone." He was stuck behind a red light and a stupid jackass throwing up out of the window. He waited patiently, listening to the rustling on the other end of the line.

"_Arrthur! It's EAMMES! See? NO Arthurr. Stupid. Fucking. Jerk._" He heard something break and he started getting jumpy.

"Addie what was that?"

"_Hm? Oh…it was my glass of wine. I'll get it…WHOOPS!"_ There was a crash and another fit of giggles. "_Oopsie daisy._"

"Addie, I'll be right there. Don't drink anything else ok?"

"_Okie dokie Eammess_" She giggled and then the phone went dead. Fuck. He sped around the jerk still retching up his alcohol and sped down the street towards Ariadne's and Arthur's flat. This was bad.

INCEPTION

He kicked another can into a gutter as he passed under a streetlight. What was he doing? He shouldn't be doing any of this. He should be home. With Ariadne. Watching old movies and holding her on their bed. But he had fucked up bad. First he had let Cobb's words infect his mind. Almost as if Cobb had performed Inception on him just by saying what he had. And then to fuck up more, he had told Ariadne that their relationship was a mistake and that he was ending it.

But that wasn't true at all. He needed her. Couldn't breathe without her. So why had he done the things he had? Hadn't he known that it was beyond stupid and entirely untrue? That nothing could ever really keep him away from Ariadne because Ariadne was his drug? He shook his head, fighting bitter tears. He had to go back. He had to go and tell her he was sorry. He would grovel if he had too….beg if she needed it. But he had to have her back. And he had to let her know that what he said wasn't at all how he felt.

He loved her.

In fact, if truth be told, the thought of marrying her had started to cross his mind now. And it wasn't just happening once or twice. It was happening multiple times a day. When he woke up with her in his arms, all he could think about was how lucky he was and how beautiful she was and how he never wanted this to end. When he saw her walk into work or leave the house, his breath caught in his throat and all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and kiss her till they were out of breath. And when he made love to her it was as if they were one. In both mind and soul. And he had never felt such a deep connection with someone before. She was his true love. And he almost wanted to commit suicide for screwing that up.

He was passing by a bar now. One that looked so shady that he assumed just entering the building branded you and put you in contact with thirty different diseases. But he needed a drink and nobody would look for him there. Entering the building, he sat down heavily on a stool and ordered the strongest drink available. He could afford drowning his sorrows for a little while. After all, the disgustingly strong liquid and the equally bad hangover-to-come were not nearly punishment enough for the pain he had caused not just himself but Ariadne.

He had seen the way her eyes had died a little. The way she started to crumble when he had spoken that most detestable phrase. Her pleading voice echoed in the back of his mind as he threw back his drink a second time and slammed the empty shot glass onto the hard hickory surface. The sound of her sobbing on the bed assaulted his ears; the last thing he had heard her do before he had slammed the door to their apartment. Fisting his hair, he gasped and took another shot before closing his eyes. The room was spinning pleasantly and he felt horrible.

He glanced around, a stupid smile on his face. He felt sick to his stomach. He downed three more shots before everything went blurry and he was forced to leave the bar. Sighing, he stumbled down the street, feeling like he was dying. It was a long walk to his apartment. And it was very cold out. Maybe he could suffer a little bit more before he went home.

INCEPTION

After parking his car haphazardly between two parking spots, he exited the car, locking it quickly behind him before jogging up the stairs and to the apartment. As he got closer, he was pretty sure he could hear Addie singing in her apartment. Her voice was slurred, and he could tell she was upset. But then he heard anther crash and he dashed inside, throwing the door open and ducking quickly as a vase smashed into the wall behind him.

Addie stood in the center of the room, her hand over her mouth and a stupid, surprised look gracing her features. Tears were streaming down her eyes, and he could see a pile of photos lying on the floor in a heap, glass broken and frames twisted.

"Eames" she sobbed, running into him and fisting his shirt, her tears instantly staining it.

"Hello love" he whispered, closing the door with his foot and wrapping his arms around her small frame. "Shhh. It'll be ok love. What did he say." He led her over to the couch, sitting down carefully and pulling her against him.

"He…he said he didn't think…" she sucked in breath and cried harder. "That this was a good idea anymore…" she sobbed. "And then he left."

He felt his fists clench. "Addie…it'll be ok. He's stupid. Really, really stupid. But he's Arthur. He freaks. And then—Addie I promise that he'll be back." He stared at her. She was still beautiful. And even though her eyes were red they were still lovely and he felt like he was swimming. And the way they were sitting, her against his chest made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

She sniffed, looking into his eyes. "Eames…I don't know anymore. I don't know if I can handle the constant information and the freak outs and the—"

He kissed her.

And that's when the door burst open and four men holding high powered guns entered. He was up in an instant, Addie close behind him, a hand on her mouth to stifle the sob. They were both grabbed, and pushed toward the door. "_Ow! That hurts stop!_" He only gritted his teeth, fighting against the urge to be with her.

They were led down the stairs and past the disposed guard lying in a pool of blood behind the desk. He had shuddered, and Addie had screamed something terrible. Being pushed down the stairs wasn't fun, and when Addie tried to kick them, she was thrown over one of the men's shoulders violently.

The van was dark and as they neared it he saw that the license plate had been scratched so badly that nobody would be able to read it. They were stuck. There was no escape. A black bag was put over Addie's head and she was thrown into the van. And then the black cloth was covering his own head and his arms were bound behind him and he was lost to darkness, only the sounds of Ariadne's sobs to confirm he was still in reality.

INCEPTION

He was walking along the sidewalk, leaning heavily against the wall as he made his way toward the apartment. He could see it now, dull and foreboding. He suddenly didn't feel like being here anymore. The fear of Ariadne's possible rejection was ringing in the back of his mind and he shook his head quickly to clear it, focusing on the breath pluming in front of him. There was suddenly a black van next to him. The door slid open, and three men jumped out, grabbing him before he could even try to fight them off. He was thrown into the side of the van, his head colliding heavily.

"Ari" he whispered, her image filling his head. And then he was out.

INCEPTION

He was sitting behind his desk, feet propped up on a pile of papers he was too lazy to read right now when his phone rang.

"We got them."

**So tada! I hope I didn't disappoint you guys! I'm writing this a day early because I have midterms starting tomorrow and there is no way I'll do anything but study. Don't get too used to early updates! I have to give a belated shout out from Miss Caitie Jo. She gave me the idea of Ariadne kicking the mark in the head. Haha. If anyone has any other ideas for this story tell me and I'll see what I can do. Thanks for all the reviews/favorites/alerts. And thanks for reading. It means a lot. Review!**


	4. Only a Picture

**I don't own Inception. I just own all the bad guys **

Only a Picture

He awoke with a gasp, his head snapping up and with a groan he immediately regretted his actions as the room started violently spinning and he was forced to lower his head partially. Taking deep rasping breaths, he shook his pounding head and slowly raised it again, blinking hard to see through the dark and his pounding headache. It took a few seconds, during which time he became acutely aware how deadly quiet it was in the room, and with a shiver he willed his eyes to see faster.

Finally, the darkness was drawn back like a curtain and he could see. The room was barren. One viewing window was set high into the wall in front of him, to the left of the heavy metal door which he assumed was bolted shut. Through this window he tried to discern if anyone was outside watching him, but he found that nobody was and he sighed with relief, letting his eyes roam the rest of the room. There was another window boarded up with rotting wood hanging by the tips of their nails obscuring the only natural light that could enter, and from this he assumed that he was either on the first or second floor of the building. The reason for this was simple; although in Paris there were taller and more modern buildings that went up to at least five stories, they were in well kept condition—or at least partially good condition—Ariadne's old apartment building was one of the ones that needed serious work done. The second reason was that this building was old—much older than the revolution to higher and slimmer buildings for more populated places. Which led him to his next assumption: he was in the country. If he wasn't, he would have heard a car pass, or a dog or a child or anything. But here was only wind and the rustling of leaves and his breath. He wondered if he was the only one here—if they had left him for dead. But that thought only lasted untill he saw the four cameras placed strategically around the room. He _was_ being watched.

The concrete floor was cracked and sagged toward the middle of the room. To his highly trained eye, it looked as if someone had hastily tried to repair the room only a few days before his arrival. Which meant that they were going to be keeping him around—why worry about safety if you planned on killing your captive hours after he awoke? The walls were cracked slightly, and were leaning out toward the rooms on opposite sides of him. They were made of heavy looking cinderblocks and he was slightly unsettled by the dust that fell periodically from them. The ceiling took a few extra seconds to discern, but he actually afforded himself a smile when he saw it was flimsy tile. That would be his backup means of escape. If he could only get out of here.

Pulling on his restraint, it wasn't long untill he realized that although the rope was thick, the chair was flimsy and half rotted and with one giant tug, he collapsed onto the ground with a loud 'oomph' and he was free. There was a broken pipe along the wall nearest the window that he hadn't seen earlier. Leaning on the ground and with quick grunts he let the pipe saw away at it untill it broke with a snap before standing, ignoring the fact that his pants were going to be ruined forevermore. Letting the ropes fall to the floor without a second thought, he moved to the window, feeling the wood with his hands. He froze when he heard shouts and the door being unlocked. With a quick grunt he kicked through the wood and was met by fresh air. With a laugh he pulled at two thick pieces of wood to make a hole big enough for his body and he had just gotten through when the door was flung open and three burly men ran in swearing. With a salute, he jumped, landing in the heavy branches of the tree outside the window and quickly he shimmied down to the ground, taking off when a rifle shot hit the tree next to his head.

He had made it through the long yard and had just started up the gravel road when he heard the engines of cars, and he quickly dived into the bushes as they turned from the drive to the road, passing him quickly. He waited until he was sure they were gone, before hopping the fence and running across the road into the forest on the other side. He found a car outside a brightly lit cabin, and ignoring the shouts of protest, hijacked it, taking the road back to Paris. He had to get to Ariadne. They were probably going after her now, because if they needed him, they would have done reconnaissance on him and they would have certainly found out about their relationship.

Reaching their apartment, he ran up the furnished stairs, jamming the elevator just in case before unlocking his door slowly. He stifled instantly. The sounds of a creaking bed and the soft groans of a couple were coming from the room down the hall. Their room. Walking slowly, he cracked the door, and felt like he had been kicked in the chest. Eames and Ariadne were mid coitus. Both their bodies were covered in a slick sheen as Eames continued to thrust heavily into her awaiting body writhing erotically underneath them, and neither seemed to realize he was there. How could she do this to him? How could she dump him so quickly for Eames of all people a mere day after he had disappeared? The image of Eames climaxing in her had been too much; the final straw that broke his straining back and he flung himself into the room, his face red with his anger and tears pouring down his eyes. But they only laughed, holding each other close before kissing deeply. And that's when he noticed that her laugh was different. And her eyes; they weren't the same shad that he had fallen in love with all those months ago. And the cute freckle below her breast was missing. It was a dream. There was no reason to kill Eames, but he took pleasure in shooting him multiple times untill his bloody body stopped moving. And then slowly he brought the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger.

A/A/E

He woke with a start on the lawn chair, his eyes swiveling around the room and a lump in his throat tightened heavily. Ariadne's death had just been a cruelly induced dream that he had been too caught up into stop—again. He needed to rest—a small respite would do him good and keep him more aware on his reality. They had taken his damn totem, but they didn't have a good enough architect to make him really believe he was in a dream. But they had been surprisingly good at getting Ariadne's characteristics right. A fact that angered him because it meant that they had been watching her for a while now. He pulled at the chains behind the chair, spitting when Lewis came close enough. But he only smirked and punched him the face. His head snapped up and then came down slowly to rest on his chest. They were trying to break him. For what information he wasn't sure but he knew the longer he held up the angrier they got and that as much satisfaction he would get.

The blonde bitch near the PASIV cackled wickedly, saying something in French that he couldn't understand. He needed Addie. Where was she? The thought of her alone in their hands made his blood boil and he fought against the restraints again, directing a pleading look to an unconscious Arthur. God, he should be awake by now. He wondered what they had done to him. What they were still doing to him. But then he shot up in his chair with a loud gasp and the bitch screamed in shock. There was suddenly a dirty rag stuffed into his mouth; probably to stop him from informing him that Addie was with him. The gruff man, Attleman, was chuckling as he pulled him roughly to his feet, and Arthur's eyes landed on him in a second, his eyes widening in shock. He fought against the chair, calling his name before a taser was shoved into his abdomen and he collapsed in screams.

He was led out of the room as Lewis started speaking, and he kicked out, pulling his body forward in an effort to stay before he was punched in the chest and he was dragged from the room. The cell they threw him in was one that he had barely gotten to see since he had arrived. The wooden floor was cold and uncomfortable and he grunted in pain when he was thrown inside and landed on his side. Rolling away in case they threw something inside him he stood, leaning heavily against the wall and shaking hard. He glared as they slammed the door shut.

Feeling the wall, he realized the wall wasn't as thick as he had thought, and a flutter of hope grew in him.

"ADDIE!" he screamed, his voice cracking in the process. He was met in silence for a few minutes before the faint voice of Addie filled the room.

"EAMES!"

"ARE YOU OK?"

"uh…YEAH! Yeah. THEY DIDN'T DO TOO MUCH TO ME. EAMES…I'M SCARED!"

"I KNOW DARLING, IT'LL BE OK I PROMISE."

"EAMES THEY'RE COMING!"

He felt rage fill his body. "DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER YOU BASTARDS!"

There was a rustle, and his door opened, a furiously calm Lewis entering brusquely. "Mr. Eames."

"Fuck off."

He clucked his tongue, shaking her head. "Listen Mr. Eames. I have a proposition."

"Fuck off you stupid man."

"Fine…I guess I'll tell Ariadne my apologies when she gets raped."

"Don't touch her."

"Then I suggest you listen."

"Arthur is going to be sharing a room with you. If you so much as utter the word Ariadne, then she'll be subjected to her worst nightmares. Don't underestimate my ability to make those I wish pay."

He gulped, the color draining from his face. "Ok."

He smiled. "There's a good boy."

"But what if Arthur starts—"

"You're a big boy Mr. Eames. You think of something. I don't care what. Just remember our little agreement."

He nodded.

"Have a pleasant stay Mr. Eames." He chuckled and left the room, the door closing behind him with a sharp click.

A/A/E

Lewis crossed back into the room, before signaling for the others to leave. A few protested lightly, but quickly left when Lewis' intense gaze met their own. When the door clicked behind him he sauntered over to a heavy table in the middle of the room. After pushing a few papers out of the way, he sat down, swinging his legs as his eyes settled onto him.

"Well. Mr. Callaghan. Welcome to your nightmare."

He glowered up at him. "Lewis."

"I hope you liked your little dream. We made it especially or you."

"Fuck yourself."

"You know, I had hoped we had better cooperation. After all, what would Ariadne think if she was brought in because of you?"

"Don't. Touch. Her."

"Funny, I've heard that already today."

"How did you find us?"

"It was easy really. You made a careless purchase of two tickets to an art show on architectural designs. No doubt a little surprise for your sweetheart."

He gritted his teeth. So it had been his fault. A careless fault that had been made based off of all the right intentions.

"Plus." He hopped off the desk and came up to him, leaning down untill he was facing him. "You never did have your contacts erase your very being from France. Seems your mind was just a little preoccupied. Of course, we already had enough on you that we could have found all of you in less than a week no matter how far you buried yourself."

He gritted his teeth.

"Come now, don't hurt those pretty little teeth. You know, you look very attractive right now. Maybe when this is done I'll keep you."

He spit on him.

"Or not. Suit yourself." He stood up and made his way to the door. He made three raps on the door in succession and his mind was thrown back into the memory of Ariadne laughing as she made her way up the steps, rapping on the wall to let Yusuf know that it was time. "Take him to room four."

Two burly men followed Lewis back into the room. Lewis pulled a needle filled with orange liquid from his inside jacket pocket, and Arthur bucked his legs, trying to escape even as the needle was slammed down into his shoulder. Then, he was dragged through the winding halls. The door was marked with a large red number four, the paint had been applied sloppily and it looked to him as if it was blood. The door was thrown open, and he was thrown inside, before it was slammed shut again. There was movement on the other side of the room, and he almost punched the person when they grabbed his arm until he realized with shock that it was Eames.

"Eames!" He gave him a quick hug, before leaning down against the wall. "How did they get you?"

"I…uh…I don't remember. Last thing I remember is walking outside of a club with a wonderful brunette in my arm and then—"he sighed. "Bloody hell we're in trouble."

He nodded. "And Ariadne? Please tell me they haven't found Ari."

"Who?"

"Ariadne. You know my girlfriend. OUR architect?"

"Bloody hell Arthur. Are you sure you weren't hit on the head? I think I would remember someone named Ariadne that just happened to be both our architect and your girlfriend. They must have hit you hard."

"No Eames. Listen. You're the one in trouble. I promise. We'll get you checked out when we get out of here."

He felt suddenly sick.

"How the hell did they find us?"

"Uh…we never got a chance to have our contacts erase our information." Eames glared at him. "And they've been watching us for a while."

"Bloody hell Arthur; take your mind away from your girlfriend for a minute won't you?"

"So you do remember?"

"No. I just belie—Arthur are you ok?"

He nodded. "Yeah. They stuck me with something."

"Shit." Eames muttered, coming around to sit in front of him. "Fight it! Arthur, I need you here to help me figure a way out! Stay awake!"

"Ari…" he breathed, falling asleep quickly.

A/A/E

She had been brought into a room that was twice the size as her cell and dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. Standing up, she rubbed her chafed wrists, staring around the room in horror. There was a single bed in the room. And she could guess what could happen in here if she was alone with one of these men. Panicking, she whipped her head around, stumbling as she bumped into the wall. She was doomed. The door was thrown open and with a sob Lewis came into the room. He had been staring hungrily at her since she had awoken. And now as the door closed and locked behind her, she wondered what he might do. She was no match for him. His arms held strength, and through his pearly shirt she could see the definition of his pecs. He would be able to overpower her in a second.

"What do you want?" She sounded weak and she hated herself.

"Me? Nothing much." He was rolling up his sleeves and his bangs obscured his face. And that's when the first punch came and with a shriek she fell to the floor. "I just want a little payback you bitch. You fucking think you can hit me and get away with it?" He kicked her in the stomach before picking her up and throwing her into the wall. "So tough now?" He slapped her across the face and spit on her, throwing her away and across the room. She landed in a heap, sobbing quietly.

He straddled her waist and hit her again. She screamed, kicking out and throwing a punch of her own across his face. He growled, wiping a thin line of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Now you'll pay."

He threw her onto the bed and grabbed a pair of scissors. "You think you're so special? So entitled? I'll teach you to mess with those higher than yourself."

He slapped her again before grabbing a fistful of her hair and cutting it harshly. She started to cry and he laughed, chopping at her hair faster. "Don't you look better?" He cackled, standing up. "I'll let you spend a few minutes with the mirror. So you can really appreciate your new hair." With that he left, leaving her crying on the musty bed.

When she tried to stand she whimpered and fell to her knees, the hot tears staining her dirty and bruised face. Crawling, she made her way over to the mirror and looked for herself. Her hair had been glossy and pristine since the Fisher job…partially due to the beauty products she had been able to buy herself with her newly acquired wealth. At first, it had been to attract Arthur. But, when she realized with trepidation that it actually felt good to look your best, she had started to buy it for more selfish reasons. Her hair had also been slightly longer, falling to the bottom of her breasts. Now sections were chopped off as far up as her shoulder, and the rest of her hair was no longer shiny. Now it was just dirty and greasy. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and she was startled when the other two men entered, grabbing her roughly above he elbows and dragging her on the tips of her shoes out of the room and down the hall.

There was another door open, and Lewis was saying something…possibly to Eames. God she hoped he closed the door before she passed. If he saw her he would go berserk and she didn't want to cause him any pain because of herself. But, when he saw her come he only cackled and stepped back, allowing greater access to the hallway. When she did pass, a lump formed in her throat and she looked down. Because not only had she seen Eames. But she had seen Arthur as well. And more importantly, they had both seen her.

**So…this was a dark chapter. It didn't start out that way, it just kind of progressed from there. So…now we have to wonder what happens next. If you guys want to see anything happen, leave it in the review or PM me ( I enjoy both equally as much) and I'll try to fit your idea in. Thanks for reading. And remember, the more reviews means the more I want to give you guys something special. So keep reviewing! And thanks for all of the reviews and favorites and alerts! It really means a lot! Keep reviewing! Please?**


	5. Merrily We Fall

Merrily We Fall

Tears of humiliation gently slide down her cheeks as she's dragged past their door, and hanging her head, she tries to block the muffled sound of their angry voices shouting for her release—_it's no use they'll do whatever the hell they want with her anyway_. But when the guards suddenly stop, her breath hitches, and she pulls her head painfully up so that she's looking straight ahead. It's a metal door, gray and worn with dark brown rust stains coating the edges around the handle. Whipping her head from side to side, she pulls feebly at the guards, her mind still swimming with the attack only moments ago.

The guards seem to hear her, but they only laugh, calling her some vulgar variation in chopped French that makes her wince—if only her grammar-Nazi mother could hear that. Those two would be finished, suffering a slow death of proper pronunciations and correct variations of their limited knowledge of French—a language that now seems dirty when uttered by their fowl, unclean mouths. With a heave she is thrown inside, and she gasps when her side hits the cold, unforgiving concrete floor. Bouncing once, she lands in a heap against the metal chair that had once been her anchor in this room for-_how long was it now? Two days?_ The door closes behind her, and she's left alone for the time being.

She thinks she sees the faint outline of cartoon stars circling her head like hungry sharks and she wonders if maybe she's actually in a Loony Toons cartoon instead, and hopes that Bugs Bunny can come and rescue them—maybe dig a hole through this shit and take them somewhere warm…maybe Brazil. Shaking her head, she tries to raise herself up, but her arms give out before she's more than a few inches off the ground, and she collapses back down, the room violently spinning and her head pounding. Fresh tears—hot and bitter are trying to escape, but she sucks in breath and calms herself for a few seconds, her eyes squeezed tightly together against the pain.

She can't focus her thoughts, and she knows that isn't a good sign but she can't help that now and she tries to settle her ragged breathing. Her eyes feel like a broken dam, and her resolve is the little boy with his finger in the hole…but it'll only last for so long and the images of Arthur staring back at her horrified is enough to break them, and she holds onto the chair legs, half off the ground as the sobs wrack her frame.

What had they done to him? He didn't look anything like he had when she had last seen him…before this mission had gone completely to hell…before he had walked out. Before the kiss with Eames. His once perfect hair, something that she had found considerably sexy had been buzzed, and it now was so short that she could see the top of his scalp. There was a large, ugly bruise gracing his left cheek that distorted the usually blemishless alabaster skin, and his right eye had an ugly yellow and purple bruise underneath it, not to mention the bulbous bump on the top of his forehead on the left side. Rubbing her eyes angrily, she stifled her sobs, determined to not let them win. She'd stay strong for Arthur and Eames, and make them as angry as they could get. Maybe if she could do that, they'd have too much fun hurting her, and decide not to kill them.

Standing the rest of the way, she swayed, her eyes roaming the room for anything to help her escape, but it was empty save for a desk that sat in the corner of the room, with one drawer cracked. Heading toward it, she moved slowly, her feet unsteady and several times she threw out her hands to help her stay balanced. But finally she reached it, and sighed in contentment as she leaned heavily on it.

The white paint was chipped, and she could tell that it had been stolen out of some landfill in the middle of the country. It was old as well, and she wondered what its story was-for as her grandmother always said, every piece of furniture had a story, just as every person did. The desk top was smooth when she ran her hand along it and she was happy for it, and when she pulled out the old wooden chair that accompanied it, she sat down in relief, cracking her back to alleviate some of her discomfort.

The only sound in the room was her slow exhales, as her hand dropped off the side of the desk and rested on the knob on the slightly open drawer. Pulling it open, she saw an old fountain pen roll toward her, and she glanced around quickly before picking it up and holding it in her hands. The weight was comfortable and she smiled slightly untill the worry set in. _What if they took the pen like they had her totem? Then she would have nothing…she had to keep it safe. Keep it with her always. Just in case._ Her hand closed around it protectively, and she slipped it into her pocket quickly, goose bumps gliding up her arms.

There suddenly came muffled shouts from behind the wall directly in front of the desk, and she leaned backward on instinct. The chair lost its balance, and she fell with it, her head striking the floor with a sickening crack. Her eyes fluttered, the voices muffled. She slipped her finger into her pocket, clasping the pen. Her breathing was suddenly loud in her ears, and the room was spinning again, going blurry at the edges. And then darkness surrounded her, and she was asleep.

Arthur

Anger consumed him; blazed in his eyes like unquenchable fire and gnawed at his very soul. They had gotten Ariadne. No matter how he had cooperated to ensure her safety…his only goal in mind—he hadn't been able to keep her from this horror. And worse…and possibly the most maddening of it all was that Ariadne had been hurt. Lewis had touched his Ariadne. And Lewis would pay. Some way soon.

Growling angrily, he slammed his fist into the wall, his teeth bared as he shouted, his whole being shaking. She wasn't answering him. Or Eames for that matter. She could be in a coma…she could be dead…she could be lying broken on the floor. Or just as bad…those men could be doing awful things to her. His fists shook in anger. They better not have. Crossing the room, he slammed his fists into the wall, screaming with his might. Eames, was calling for him to stop but in his blazing anger he didn't even hear him and it wasn't untill Eames had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him away from the door did he breath, his muscles unclenching slightly.

Hot bitter tears welled in his eyes as he shoved Eames off him, but he blinked them away, rubbing furiously before sliding down the wall, his hanging his head. From under his eyelashes, he could see Eames' shoes as he paced in front of him. He seemed to be in the same mood as he was, but he was somehow controlling himself. _Why couldn't he?_ It was just that…the thought that Ariadne might be lying broken on the floor by herself in this prison made him so…angry…and it made him just see red. Nothing was rational now. It was all about her.

"FUCK!" He screamed, not really realizing he had spoken aloud untill Eames crouched down in front of him.

"Arthur…I know this is tough…and I know you're trying to figure this out in your mind some way. But listen, don't go doing anything stupid. Not again. It'll just make this all turn out badly before its even started."

His eyes blazed, and he whipped his head up, catching Eames by surprised. His body was tense as well, but Arthur didn't give a fuck. _What had he meant by 'not again'? Was he implying something? Did he know about their fight? How?_ "What do you mean 'not again'?" His voice was quiet and dangerous, and he could see Eames trying to figure this out.

"Nothing…nothing darling. We need to work on a plan. Now, what I was—"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'NOT AGAIN?'" He shouted, spittle flying helplessly to the ground below. He was starting to think that beating the shit out of Eames would help.

"Nothing. I just mean…well…" he broke off, rubbing his neck slowly.

Why wouldn't he just spit it out? "What. Do. You. Mean?" He ground out.

"You already fucked up when you LEFT her all by herself alone in that damn apartment Arthur."

"And how the fuck…how the fuck do you know about that?"

"Because she called me that night drunk off her ass! She was so upset all because of YOU you tosser!" He shouted, his finger jabbing Arthur.

"What the FUCK do you mean you were in my house?"

"She called me. DRUNK OFF HER ASS! Don't you get it Arthur? She's fucking hurt by what you did. Hell, I almost went to kill you. If she hadn't been so drunk I was afraid she'd die, I might have gone looking for you."

"If you were with her, then WHY the hell are you both here? Why the hell is SHE here? And why the hell didn't you answer me the FIRST TIME I ASKED YOU?" He was in Eames' face now, and he could tell he was turning bright red. But he didn't care at all.

"Because Arthur, I know when it's useless to fight back in a situation. I, unlike you apparently, can hold off with my stupid hero mode, and wait for a more opportune time! And the reason why she's here is because they had high powered weapons trained on us both! If I even TRIED to move, her brains would have been all over that attractive wall paint of yours! SO FUCK YOU ARTHUR! It hurts me JUST AS MUCH that SHE'S here too."

"YEAH? AND WHY IS THAT?" He stepped closer, their faces almost touching.

"BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE HER!" He shouted back, lunging forward.

The first punches were just wild jabs at whatever part they could reach at first, and their sweat and grunts had mixed quickly. But after a few minutes, they stepped back, limping quietly to respective corners where they sat nursing their wounds. Glaring at each other, Arthur had just shot his eyes downward to look at a particularly nasty cut Eames had given him when he heard what he thought was Piss off. His blood boiling, he raged forward again, and the fists collided again.

Lewis

Watching from the monitor, Lewis cackled, before downing the rest of his gin. Create a problem over a woman, and put two hot blooded men in a room together and sooner or later a fight like this would erupt. And if things kept going according to plan like this, by the end not only would someone turn up dead, but the survivors' relationship will have been so destroyed that essentially there would be nothing left. And then his mission would finally succeed. To destroy them.

"Throw in a can of sleeping gas. It's time we played a game."

Crack nodded, smiling wickedly as he reached into the rusty closet behind him to pull out a dark can, and he shook it appreciatively, excited for the first time in a while. "And the girl?"

He sighed, and rolled her eyes. _Honestly, why was everyone so dense around here?_ "Bring her as well. We can't have them misunderstand the seriousness of the situation."

"Sir." Crack left the room, the door clicking shut behind him, and turning to Veronica, he smiled, grabbing her shoulder roughly.

"It's time to have some fun."

Eames

He threw another punch, and his fist connected with Arthur's already bloody nose, smiling in grim satisfaction when he heard the crack. Arthur's knee connecting with his groin took him off guard completely though, and he rolled on the floor, Arthur jumping on top of him. His hard fists connected with his face, and above him, Arthur grunted with each punch.

There was a metallic squeal, and the door was pushed open a crack, a can thrown inside before the door slammed shut again. When the yellow gas began to billow out, and drift lazily along the floor, Arthur jumped off of him and backed up into a corner, him following suit. Using his shirt as a crude gas mask, he tried to breathe the air, only to find that there was none…only filmy gas.

"Don't breathe it in." Arthur's eyes seemed to say, and he nodded, focusing as hard as he could on filtering the air. But it was no use, and his vision clouded. He sank to his knees, and glancing sideways he could see Arthur already unconscious on the floor next to him. He checked his pulse—it was weak but still there—before he too blacked out. And he was surrounded by nightmares.

_Later_

He awoke slowly, his vision swimming in front of him for a few seconds before his eyes could focus. Snorting, he jumped up from the ground, pulling forward with a guttural growl when he saw Lewis standing before him with a smug smile gracing his face, his head whipping to either side when he saw that his hands were restrained by long chains connected to the slimy wall behind him. Glancing to his left, he saw Arthur lying in the corner, thick ropes wrapped around both his ankles and his arms, incapacitating him. He was awake, but when Eames focused on him, he noticed that his eyes held no malice toward Lewis. Instead, they were wide and focused on something to his right and when he looked, he gasped. There was Addie, still unconscious, but not hurt anymore than she had been when they had seen her pass by a few hours ago. Her left hand was handcuffed to a metal pipe hanging off the side of the wall, and her breathing was shallow.

The sound of Lewis' shoes on the pavement drew him back to him, and he glared at his smile. He was too bloody happy. "I'll leave you alone till she wakes up. Then we can start the fun. That I promise." Leaving, he shut the glass doors behind him, waving arrogantly behind him before disappearing behind the wall. He doubted he wasn't still listening.

"Arthur." He ground out after a few seconds.

"Hm?" He grunted, and Eames could see that he was beyond uncomfortable…his eyes still focused on Addie.

"We need to stop. Lets…let's call a truce for now." When Arthur said nothing, he moved along. " I think we both know how this is going to turn out. He's going to torture us. And then he's going to kill us. But we need to focus. Maybe…if we can divert his attention, Addie can be spared. Even…if it kills us. Because she's the most important one right now. Please Arthur. Let's…let's work together."

He saw Arthur's head move slightly, and with a sigh he dropped to his knees, resting his head in his arms. He needed to get a few seconds of rest. It would help him not only stay alert…but maybe it would help save her.

**So…hey! I'm really sorry for this delay, I promise it won't happen again. I just had a big writers block, and I decided that I was writing too much on a schedule and that was hurting my creativity. So I'm thinking once a week I'll post a chapter. I hope you enjoyed this! It's just a little something to start this off. And I hope I did a good job at showing the strained and deteriorating relationship between Arthur and Eames. **

**Reviews are amazing, and they give me great drive—and ideas so keep them coming please! I'm trying to respond the each of them, but I'm so sorry if I missed yours. Call me out on it! Thanks again! Reviews= amazing presents for me, that help me love you more. Thanks again for reading!**


	6. Fire, Blood and Water

Fire, Blood and Water

**I don't own Inception or the characters of Eames, Arthur, and Ariadne. They belong to Christopher Nolan. I just borrow them for my own devices. **

**Eames**

He jumped, pulling at his restraints unconsciously when Ariadne awoke with a guttural scream, her head thrashing and her legs kicking out at the air around her. Her eyes were screwed shut, her face ashen and her body trembling. The nightmare had been a bad one, and it pained him that it had never really ended; it was just getting started. It took a moment for her to settle enough for her to open her eyes, and she seemed to visibly relax when she saw both Arthur and himself.

"Arthur…Eames." She breathed, a smile forming despite their tight bonds.

His eyes desperately took her in, searching for any marks. "Hello love what did they—"

Their heads whipped when they heard the sound of the glass doors sliding open and Lewis walked in, rolling up his cuffs. His brown hair shadowed his face, and he looked more demonic in the low light of the room. Looking up he grinned, slowly making his way to Ariadne.

"Don't touch her." He ground out. Arthur was glaring, trying to edge himself into a sitting position using the wall behind him.

He only smirked. "There, there Jonathan. There won't be any harm done on her little head" he reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her face up to meet his and he rubbed her cheek. Arthur snarled. "Yet."

He patted her on the head, before walking back to the center. "It's time that you vagabonds of the dream world to learn that your deeds cannot go unpunished. That you aren't as untouchable and infallible as you think." He walked around the room, and made his way over to a low table in the corner. Flicking on an overhead fluorescent light, Eames cringed at the harsh light that fell on the left side of his face.

"Now, this might be painful. But I promise. It'll hurt you a lot more than me." Turning around, he held up brass knuckles, and he couldn't help but notice the slight flecks of blood staining the sharp edges, and crusted in the grooves. Lewis' face was lit up in a sinister satisfaction, one that made his stomach churn.

Ariadne seemed to shrink in her chair.

"You see, you people think you can just go into anyone's mind and take whatever you want without repercussions. Well, after this night, there won't be any doubt in the whole damn world. You people aren't safe from harm." He was fiddling with the brass, fitting it tighter onto his right hand. The cold metal was glinting in the light, and he could see his reflection on the steel. Turning quickly, he punched Arthur in the jaw, which cracked sharply. Ariadne shrieked, and he grimaced, turning his head.

Arthur spit blood, moving his jaw slowly and wincing. It had to be broken.

"I'm sorry. Did I miss? I was going for your neck." He punched Arthur again, this time in the ribs, and Arthur doubled over onto the cold floor, groaning. Lewis kicked him in the back, and Arthur gritted his teeth, blood running slowly down his cheek.

"Bloody hell. Stop!" he cried, his eyes following the glinting steel as it struck Arthur in the leg twice.

Grinning, he straightened up and started forward again. His eyes never left Lewis as he slowly walked further around the room. Ariadne's eyes were wide and glassy and unfocused, locked onto Arthur. With a grunt Lewis brought the knuckles into the side of Ariadne's temple, at the hairline. Her head whipped back, and she shrieked, blood trickling down the side of her face and mixing with her bangs, before disappearing along the curve of her chin. Arthur snarled and he cursed, his muscles straining on the chains. If only he could get to her.

Lewis grinned at the sight of her blood, before turning to land his eyes on him. He walked over, slipping off the weapon as he went. His eyes flickered to Ariadne and her blood, and when he returned his gaze back to Lewis he found him standing in front of him. "Such a pretty face" his smooth hands running down his cheek. "I'd hate for you to have it hurt. So I figured something else for you Eames." He pulled up his shirt, his fingers lingering on his waistband for a few seconds longer than necessary before turning and pulling thin cords out from a black controller. He taped these to him, before stepping back to admire his work

"Electric shock isn't lethal in moderation. And it doesn't hurt your looks at all." He turned the dial, and a sudden, blinding pain raced across his chest and up his arms. His muscles quivered and sent him arching his back, and gritting his teeth. In the back of his mind, far off in the distance he could tell that somebody— Ariadne?— was screaming, and Lewis seemed to be saying something but he couldn't suddenly tell what. All that registered was the pain, which lasted for years it seemed before it was suddenly cut off and he fell to his knees, weak.

He smiled. "Fun isn't it? He smiled, and turned, glee in his voice. "This was more fun than I thought." He smiled, kicking Ariadne in the stomach. Her wooden chair fell over backwards as she struggled for breath, and Lewis quickly righted it with a large grin. Ariadne looked pale and sick, and he wondered what damage was actually caused by that blow to her head.

"Oh my dear, it seems that you aren't paying attention." He glanced down, taking her in. "Well, we'll fix that won't we. He did many things very quickly then. Producing a silver key, he quickly went behind the chair and unlocked the handcuffs. Jumping up seconds later, he pushed Ariadne down, before handcuffing her right hand to the right armrest. Pulling off his belt, he quickly tightened it around the left armrest and her other arm, leaving her hand exposed. Ariadne did manage to kick him once, firmly in the groin, and Lewis doubled over for a few minutes, before slapping her hard across the face.

He walked back across the room, and there was the clanking sound of heavy, metallic objects shifting around the desk. And then he turned, the glinting, cold metal of the hammer glistening. "As an architect, your fingers are one of the most important aspects of your job. Without them…well…there simply wouldn't be a design solidified for any project." He slammed the blunt end of the hammer down on her left hand, and she shrieked, tears springing to her eyes. "Now you'll understand what it's like to have something you care about deeply being taken from you!" He slammed it down again, and she cried in pain again.

"Jesus…stop!" He yelled, the vein in his neck popping. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur sliding up the wall, trying to stand, even as the pain overtook him. Ariadne shrieked again, and he gritted his teeth. _Arthur, make it stop…dammit._ He pulled heavily on the chains. He'd kill him if he could. Arthur was limping his way across the room now, so painfully slow that it hurt him just to watch it. The hammer fell on her left hand again.

She screamed again, and Arthur lunged forward, slamming into Lewis. The hammer grazed Arthur's jaw and there was a sprout of blood as the two fell over, pulling Ariadne in her chair with them. There was the sound of smashing wood and then softer sound of someone's ankle snapping. Ariadne shrieked, pulling the right arm rest off the wooden chair. Now the only thing keeping her to the chair was the handcuff.

His eyes swiveled between Arthur getting the shit kicked out of him—literally, and Ariadne, who was now picking herself off the floor. Her ankle was grotesquely bent in an odd angle, and her face was a mix of pain and anger. He could see that the fingers on her left hand were flatter, and more swollen. Limping, she started toward them, the chair dragging across the concrete floor. She stopped near them, panting.

"Piece of shit!" She screamed, pulling the chair up and swinging it into Lewis' back. He let out a surprised grunt and fell over, slamming into the concrete floor. The wooden chair had broken into pieces, and he was happy to see a piece had broken off into Lewis' leg, which was now trickling blood.

"Bitch." He spat out, wiping his mouth of blood, slapping her in the cheek. Her head whipped to the side, and he jumped at her, knocking her onto the floor. He pulled harder on his restraints.

**Ariadne**

He was on top of her again for the second time in a week, throwing a punch at her already swollen right eye. With a scream, she punched him, pushing her fist past his nose, and it spurted blood. He responded by slamming his elbow into her throat and she choked, as her windpipe was temporarily crushed. His fist closed around her throat, squeezing, and she tried to push him off of her, panicking. _Where was Arthur?_

Her world was fading. The room was getting darker. But she'd be damned if she died now…when things with Arthur were just turning out so well…when she still had to work out these feelings for Eames. And then she remembered, as her eyes started to blur. The fountain pen was still in her pocket…the pocket that was free to get to.

When looking back, Ariadne always said that she hadn't meant to slam the fountain pen into Lewis' throat. She had meant to stick him deeply in his arm. Anything to stop him from cutting off her flow to sweet oxygen. But the blood that spurted onto her face seconds later when she had just gotten her first gigantic breath had shocked her into screams. His own horrified scream, mouth filling with blood had only made her throw him off her faster, and sitting up she gasped. Eames had a satisfied, relieved look on his face, even though it was still pale—and gorgeous. Arthur…Arthur was on the ground, trying to pick himself up even though his arms were still bound to his body.

Shakily she stood, moving around Lewis' thrashing body and the pool of blood forming underneath his head and torso and over to Arthur. With shaky fingers, she fumbled with the knots in the ropes, but her fingers couldn't get the knots and with a frustrated cry she stood up, making her way to the table against the wall. There was a ton of equipment over here, lying haphazardly across the worn wood. Most of it was stainless steel or some rough, oxidized metal, all of which gleefully shimmered in the florescent, seeming to call for its use.

With a shudder, she grabbed the nearest blade she could get her hands on and limped quickly back to Arthur, who was struggling with the ropes. Kneeling beside him, she started to saw on the ropes when the door glass door hissed and slid open. Standing in the doorway was 'meathead', an adequately fitting name considering how bulging his muscles were, and how little his brain was.

"Hey!" he shouted, when his eyes locked onto the now still body of Lewis, his fingers curled limply around the shaft of the pen, still protruding from his neck. The blood was congealing slightly, and now looked more like jello then blood.

His gaze shifted to her now, his eyes wide as saucers. Next to her, she heard the ropes snap and Arthur rolling away. She was alone now. She could see him slinking toward the door, blending in to the deep shadows against the wall. Meathead was still trying to grasp what was happening, but she couldn't dare to move. She didn't want him to figure out what was happening just yet, and the more time she could buy, the more time Arthur had to…do his thing. Meathead's eyes turned and rested on the body: the protruding pen, the blood. And his eyes sparkled. He had finally grasped it. _The fuck…how stupid were these people?_

Turning, meathead glared at her, his hand flying to her pocket. And suddenly he was being thrown into the wall by Arthur, who had somehow slunk to the side of the room while his eyes had shifted between her and his now dead boss. At the sound of their bodies smacking the floor, Ariadne's hand darted for the knife, and grabbing it, she gritted her teeth against the pain and ran to Eames, still struggling in the chains_. A chain was only as strong as its weakest link. Where was the link?_ Her eyes roamed the black metal, and finally she saw it.

There was a knick in the metal in one of the rungs, a quarter of the way down from his arm. And she could just reach it. "Don't worry Eames…I'll get you out."

"Darling." He sounded relieved and strained, his eyes following the punches. She tried to block the sounds of cracking bone and the grunts, and even as the air around her became more electrified, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Here we go." She began to saw like her life depended on it. Never had she put so much effort into something, but then again, neither had she ever before been faced with the fact that her failure would lead ultimately to death.

Her breath came in quick pants, and in any normal situation, Eames by now would have commented on how erotic it must have sounded and how she only used that pant on Arthur—which was totally true but something she would undoubtedly deny no matter who was asking. But this wasn't a normal situation and she dropped the knife when the chain snapped with a loud hiss. Eames sighed, leaning his weight out from the other chain, trying to pull it loose. But it didn't budge.

Arthur groaned, doubling over in pain and she watched as muscles brought his fat arm down onto the small of Arthur's back. He went down hard, and her heart stopped beating momentarily. She had to help him. Pulling away from Eames she did the one thing she could think of.

She charged him, ignoring the pain it caused and the fact that muscles could kill her in an instant. But still she pressed onward, screaming as she came up flat into his side. Her weight, coupled with his unbalanced stance and the surprise confirmed in his stupid face carried them both sideways through the glass door and into the hallway, and she slammed into the wall, sliding quickly down it to the floor. Everything was cut up: her face, her arms, and her chest. But she was happy. She had saved Arthur.

The room was getting darker now, and she was fading now, from loss of blood she couldn't tell for sure, although the amount of cuts adorning her body must have at least contributed. Muscle next to her was gushing blood, which was quickly seeping into her pants and staining her clothes. There were harsh screams in the hallway, and she felt vaguely the soft hands of a man hauling her of the floor.

"Ari…Ari!" She could see his face now, distant and foggy and she smiled at him before her eyes grew too heavy and she collapsed.

Arthur

Holding her bloody body against his body, anger clouded his vision. He would get her out of here. Save her from all of this now. Eames was behind him, calling for him to help him out of the one chain binding him to the room. The other lay on the floor in a bundle courtesy of Ariadne, and it made him love her more.

He pulled the gun out of the holster on Lewis' dead body, and shot, the bullet connecting with the metal with a loud, sharp crack and Eames sagged to the floor, before quickly moving toward the body.

"What are you doing?" He was too focused on Ariadne to even begin to understand what else was going on, his eyes assessing every cut and bruise to assess the damage.

"Lewis has to have the key on him somewhere. I won't be any help if these damned chains catch on every handle and grate we pass." He reached into Lewis' back pocket, completely unaffected about touching Lewis' ass.

He nodded. "They're going to hit hard and fast. We don't have much time until the blonde bitch and her friends come running. They're stupid but they'll catch on when they see Lewis on the floor covered in his own blood."

"Right. Then we hit them harder and faster. How many bullets do you have?" He was massaging his chafed wrists, his eyes focused. He only glanced down at Ariadne once, and Arthur found himself holding her tighter.

"A whole clip. There has to be a control room around here. We find that room, we'll not only likely find weapons but surveillance. We'll be able to see where the hell we are, and how many people are here."

"Right. I'll lead the way. You keep her safe Arthur. With everything you have."

"No problem." They slunk to the door, and Eames looked through the glass hole, glancing up and down the hallway. "The south side is where we came from. They wouldn't place the control center so close to us. It has to be down to the north." He pointed to the right. "This has to be the way."

"It's going to get ugly fast. You got your game face on?"

"Never took it off darling. Ready?"

He nodded. "Go".

The hurried down the hallway, their feet softly resonating along the dank, empty hall. Arthur could feel the blood seeping into his grime covered shirt, and he held Ariadne tighter against his strong stomach. Eames was slowing now, cocking the gun quietly. Ahead was a reinforced door, new unlike all the other ones, and it was cracked open.

Inside, they could hear a machine whirring, and the blonde bitch was on the phone with someone, oblivious to what was happening around her. Eames silently counted down on his fingers, and Arthur pressed himself against the wall when Eames kicked open the door with a bang. Blondie screamed, and then there were three shots.

Arthur counted slowly, waiting for the signal. If Eames didn't show soon, he would high tail it out of here blindly and take his chances. Ariadne's life source was literally slipping through his fingers now. Her breath was getting shallower, and her face was paling. Eames stuck his head out of the doorway, his smirk faltering when he saw her again, and his eyes clouded with concern.

"Let's just get out of here while we can." He passed Eames by and surveyed the room. There were four computer screens, broken up into four sections on a table against the wall. Three of them showed the cells they had been kept in and their torture room. The fourth, surveyed the decaying parking lot and the loading bay out front. Two guards were stationed at each, holding high powered guns with hardened faces to match. Each would be a challenge without better weapons. Arthur would bet his life they had bullet proof jackets on underneath their sweaters.

"I don't see any cars darling."

He nodded. "I know. We'll just have to hope we can find one once we're outside. They may be parked in a blind spot."

"That's a slim chance darling." His face was set.

"I know. But we have to try. Or do you have a better idea?"

"Don't go starting something now Arthur. Later." Turning at his glare, he made his way to a low employee locker, and pulled, wrenching the door off its hinges with a terrible squeal. Inside was a treasure trove of weapons, all of which he was skilled at using.

"I'll take the grenades. And the machine gun."

"What about Addie?"

"You take her. You can shield her better under fire anyway. I'm not as brawny as you are."

"Right you are darling. My muscles have a little 3-d to them." He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes when he took her from him.

"Sure…muscles." He grabbed what he needed, then turned to scope the room once more. The blonde's blood was making the room smell entirely too metallic…and he wasn't liking it. There was a filing cabinet under the table. With deft fingers, he pulled it open, grabbing the files from inside. "In case any of it can point to us once we escape."

He nodded. Which way do we go…through the loading dock or the parking lot? He scanned the computer again. "Loading dock. It's not as open. Just in case anyone is on the roof."

"We better hope not."

"Ready?"

"No"

"Good."

He led the way this time, the gun pointing straight ahead of him. Along corners, he motioned Eames to stop as he surveyed the surroundings but they met nobody untill they made it to the garage. There were men's voices coming from behind the door, and Arthur's breathing increased, his hand tightening on the handle.

He kicked the door open, Throwing in a grenade before throwing himself against the wall. The explosion rocked the floor, and the ceiling above cracked and strained. He waited two seconds, before throwing himself in.

The room was a mess of blood and guts. Of the two men guarding the exits, one had been completely destroyed. The other was lying against the wall, his leg blown off. He shot him in the head, before throwing all of his weight to lift the door. When the fresh, cold air hit his face, he sucked in breath, never forgetting entirely where he was. It felt nice to get out of there, and he wondered how he had survived without fresh oxygen. That wouldn't be taken for granted again. He ran out the door, his gun whipping from side to side but there was nobody outside…or so he thought untill the bullet hit the ground a few millimeters from his feet. _The roof._ He motioned for Eames to stay put, and fired at the ceiling, rolling onto the tar before the next stream of bullets hit him.

He pulled the pin on the grenade, tossing it up and over his shoulder while motioning for Eames, and those few seconds before the explosion were some of the most anxious he had ever witnessed. Eames came flying out from the loading dock, Ariadne pressed tightly to his chest. Every foot between himself and the building was both filled with danger and filled with hope. And then the explosion came, and Eames was knocked off his feet, rolling along the ground before his body and that of Ariadne's were covered in the dark, black cloud. They must have kept something prone to exploding up on the roof, because the explosion was more powerful than he had anticipated, and the wind from the blast tore greedily at his clothes, and his hair was pushed forward when he was turned. The wall in front of him was blown out, and his own scream as overcome from the noise. The roof collapsed, and the building imploded with a crash.

In the seconds that followed, the earth rocked before him, and he was deaf to the world. He could see Eames picking himself up, and pulling Ariadne, who had been underneath him, off the ground. Eames was screaming at him, motioning for him to get up but his legs seemed to be leaden and his movements were sluggish. And then slowly, around the pieces of concrete falling from the sky his hearing returned and he called out, louder than he should have. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah…we are. Common darling, we can chat later." They ran around the rubble, their guns drawn, but they met no one along the way—although they found the occasional limb lying half buried beneath the building. It must have been getting warmer since they had been in the building, because the river next to the parking lot, two feet below, was rimmed with ice and flowing quickly, swollen to the edge of the bank on the other side. Already, sirens were in the distance. They would be caught soon.

"No cars. They must be somewhere in an underground garage and that's now buried. We'll have to jump."

"In the river? It's freezing and Ariadne's dying!"

"If we don't we'll be stuck her with all the questioning, thrown in jail, and Ariadne will be separated from us forever. It's the only chance we have!"

Eames shrugged out of his jacked and his shoes, and he followed suit.

"Ready?"

"No."

"Good." He nodded. "Follow the river for a few miles, then get out and go to 1250 St. Edmunds St. I have a contact there that will give us a safe haven. And remember the phrase 'the bell tolls for thee'"

"What?"

"Don't fight me on this, just do it."

He nodded. "I'll see you then."

"Remember. 1250 St. Edmunds St. And 'the bell tolls for thee'"

He nodded, before jumping, and Arthur watched them disappear into the cold, dark water. He hoped he'd see them again soon. And that Ariadne would be able to hold on till they got her help."

**So...this chapter was really long. I hope you guys didn't mind. Thanks for reading! Thursday was Joseph Gordon-Levitt's birthday, and I tried to get this done by then but I was tired and I fell asleep at the computer. Anyway, reviews are much appreciated. And now the plot is going to be entirely made up as we go along, so any suggestions or anything you'd like to see, please don't be shy. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and alerted so far. It's been amazing. Happy belated birthday Joe! Review please! Those reviews are like birthday presents, and I love each and every one. **


	7. Never Going Back

**So…hey guys. I'm really sorry that this was so long in the making. Honestly, I hit writers block and then got swamped with homework again. And then I'd say to myself that I'd get to this during the weekend and it just never happened. So I'm sorry. I hope this doesn't throw you off too much. **

**Thanks again for reading! And remember to hit that little button at the bottom. It makes my world so much brighter. **

Never Going Back

Eames

He landed in the dark, rippling water with a crash, falling like a rock towards the bottom. Swirling water pulled at the remaining clothes on his body, gripping them and pulling him quickly down the river violently, refusing to let go even as he protested; his arms swinging wildly. His fingers stretched to their limits, grasping blindly for the broken twigs and stones along the bottom of the river, anything to slow his propelled body, but to no avail. The water was too strong, and coupled with the few days he had gone without food and water, his body was just too weak to stop himself. The fact that Ariadne's waterlogged body being sucked forward didn't help matters either, and it took all his power just to hoist her to his side, his lungs already burning with the effort.

Digging his feet into the soft silt, he groaned when he slammed into a rock embedded in the ground, his body tumbling up and over it. His feet momentarily brushed the surface like a brush swirling across canvas, rings emanating from the motion, but then he was slammed back down into the ground, something piercing his knee simultaneously.

Noise was muffled in the water, and with his movement so sluggish, and his body perpetually turning, he had no inkling as to which direction was up. His head was pounding, the blood rushing to his head and his lungs were aching, begging him for sweet release, for delicious oxygen; the life source. And yet he could not gain his footing, could not stop himself from turning without first letting go of Ariadne. And because she was unconscious still, if he, even for a moment, let go she would vanish forever into the blackness, her body surfacing days later in a storm drain somewhere in central Paris.

With a groan, a stick pierced him in the side, and twirling, his feet touched the ground, leaving ruts in the silt as his body was dragged onward. He was starting to lose consciousness, and it dawned on him that Ariadne, unconscious as she was, didn't know that she was underwater whatsoever. And that meant she was breathing in the water. She was drowning with every second her head was submerged. With the last remaining strength in his body he kicked off from the bottom of the river, his legs thrashing wildly and his arm thrusting upward, propelling his body toward the surface with the last of his usable energy, his body still being mercilessly dragged downriver.

Finally, he broke surface, his body shaking with effort and he gasped, his head spinning as he sucked air into his lungs, coughing up the water he had consumed along the way. Ariadne was still being dragged a few inches below the surface and he roughly pulled her upward, slapping her on the back a few times while ignoring the blatant fact that she had bruises where his hand connected and turning her head, she coughed up water, her breath coming in ragged bursts. She opened her eyes for a few seconds, smiling thinly as she floated in the water; hair splayed and rippling in the current, skin so pale it rivaled ivory, and lips so blue that sapphires would have a tough time competing with her. She mumbled something quietly, which he didn't catch although he figured it was important, before turning her head over and going back to sleep, despite his desperate pleads.

Shaking his head to throw his bangs out of his face so that the droplets of water wouldn't get in his way of searching for a plausible way out, he searched the bank, dismayed with the fact that it was just sheer limestone on either side. Reeds and wild grass grew along the edges of the river, showing him that there was a small ledge on which he could grasp, but he refused it and instead lay back in the water, staring up at the sky as the water carried him smoothly. It was much calmer here, and he was able to breathe normally, his mind still racing from the past events.

For the next half hour he focused on the sky, watching as it exploded into a myriad of colors; vibrant reds and pinks where the sky just touched the setting sun, moving to a royal purple and then to deep blue at the edges of the sky. The clouds were still thick and voluminous, filled with hues of grey and purple. He let his mind wander back to days long gone, when he and his brothers and sisters, all seven of them, would run to the country where they would stay the day, returning just before nightfall for supper with mother and father—his childhood was much more normal than he would ever admit, although by now Arthur must have known about it. That was before he knew what the word cancer was; before he knew what alcohol's effects on a family were, or how much abuse one could really take before one finally snapped inexorably.

Sitting up with a gasp, he turned his head to find that now, the riverbank was, although somewhat steep, just mud and thick grasses sticking out at odd intervals in every direction. There were a few bulrushes here, and the reeds were plenty. The perfect spot to escape the river. And just ahead was a covered bridge at the outskirts of the city. He was in luck. Swimming awkwardly in the water, he pulled himself to the edge, fisting the grass and mud as he lugged Ariadne's still form to the edge of the water. Hefting himself up, he slipped twice, the mud giving way under him before he finally shimmied, sopping, onto the ground. His undershirt and pants were ruined, and there was dirt under his nails…and he had always kept them so meticulously clean too. Ariadne was still submerged in the water from her midriff when he turned back, and he pulled her to the sanctuary of the grass, checking her pulse and only letting out breath when he felt her faint, warm breath upon his knuckles.

He sat there for a few minutes, recovering from his ordeal before picking her up bridal style and slowly trudging down the road in his socks, ignoring the biting pain as his feet landed on loose gravel and sharp rocks. The city's edge was rapidly approaching and it was only a matter of minutes until he could get to the labyrinth's safety. From there, he could hail a shifty taxi to take them to 1250 St. Edmund's Street. And by fisting the driver an extra twenty, he'd ensure they were long forgotten. Ariadne still had a chance to be saved now. He hadn't thought it possible; hell in the back of his mind he had been preparing her funeral speech. But now it looked as if instead he'd be preparing a wedding speech instead. This made him grimace. Did she really have to marry him? Shaking his head, he leaned against the worn brick of an abandoned building. He'd have time to sulk in his own self-pity later. Now he needed to save the most important thing to him.

Ariadne

She was in a world of white. A world that she despised. Her life was not meant to be involved with something so…plain. And yet every time she tried to fill this empty world, the lines would bend unnaturally against her will and the colors would all run together, pooling around her like water. Which only made her languish in her despair further. She looked for a way out, searching and searching, but to no avail. And when she made a door, she was only greeted by another room, equally as white and barren. And meanwhile, the white walls pulsated with her heartbeat. And she realized, over time, that it was slowing down.

She regained consciousness only once, when Eames slammed his fist into her back. She felt as if she was getting a defibrillator to her spine, and she gasped in pain, crumpling to the white ground for a few seconds before being sucked forward and into reality; a world of color and sounds and Eames' gorgeous steel eyes. She mumbled a phrase she couldn't remember…something to do with a man named Arthur she recalled, before she was suddenly being pulled back into her own head, back to the prison she had so desperately tried to escape only moments before. She had clawed at the edges of her subconscious, trying to pull herself forward and back to the living but it only resulted in her being sucked back stronger and she then found herself in a world of grey…one more frightening than the land of white. Because now she found, in this world, there were shadows in every corner.

The shadows here were malignant, taunting and bulling. They mocked her for her sudden feelings for the man named Eames. Mocked her for the love she felt for the man called Arthur. They mocked her for getting a degree in architecture that she would never use. A degree she wasn't sure she remembered receiving at all. They mocked her for the death of her mother. They mocked her for Cobb's happy ending; because she had received none herself. They mocked her with Mal's taunting, sultry voice. They mocked her with Miles' disapproving eyes. With a PASIV she could never reach. And they mocked her by showing her images of what the ones she cared about most would do when she was dead. The Arthur man would go and find himself a prettier girl; a girl bustier than she…maybe a blonde. And the man named Eames…he'd go back to his bourbon and his parties. And she would be forgotten in a shallow grave, a former student ripped from the world before she got her chance to be somebody.

She remembered crying; whimpering alone in this world while the shadows crowded around her, acting out the life she would never live. The children she would have liked to have. The house that she had always dreamed of being demolished before her eyes while she could do nothing but watch. School plays and innocent artwork and parent-teacher conferences and love making between the sheets. The men in these dreams were only two; and they reversed the roles with every new act that formed for her torment.

The next time she awoke, she was in the back of a taxi, her head in the lap of the man with the grey eyes that could see through her soul. He was shouting at an Iraqi man, who was cursing in a funny little language she could not understand for the life of her, but had heard before. And then the man with the striking eyes had thrown more green paper at him, and the Iraqi had smiled and nodded, turning around so quickly she jumped; although her body never followed her. She was distinctly aware that her head was in his crotch, and that in any other circumstance he would be making jabs at her although she couldn't for her life figure out why. What she could figure out was that it was night, and that the few stars shining in the sky told her that she was, in the real world, no longer a captive in the hands of psycho assholes. She was in a city; one she felt she knew entirely too well. But she couldn't place the name, or the country in which it was located. Maybe it was back in Nova Scotia where she was born. Maybe it was in the United States. She had never been to Europe. It couldn't have been there. But then she felt herself to fade again. She knew she made a whimper, for the man turned and stared at her, his eyes clouded with emotion and she wondered if she had actually known him. And then she was fading. Only this time, she was in darkness. And she couldn't do anything. She was lost, falling swiftly to the further recesses of her mind.

Eames

The taxi driver, when hailed spoke in loud and obnoxious Arabic accent, and Eames was again glad that he was a master at most languages. The man had wanted more money that Eames thought was necessary but with the prospect of the man turning in profiles to the Parisian police who were already hot on the scene of their little prison, he had no choice. He all but threw the money in his anger, the man catching it with an evil, greedy grin before turning around and slamming on the brakes, heading toward a part of town he didn't think Arthur would ever know existed. He heard Ariadne mumble something, and looked down at her again, but her cracked lids again closed and at his attention, leaving him feeling helpless. He was beginning to understand that feeling better than he hoped he ever would.

The city passed before him in a tight blur, the inside of the cab illuminated by the streetlights as they passed underneath them and Eames felt like he was traveling further and further down a rabbit hole, gaining speed. There were little people out now at this time, and the few that were stuck to street corners, leaving no room for doubt on what their occupation was. In any other situation, he would have laughed and even whistled at them from the open window—it seemed that one of the last passengers in the car had had quite the temper and broken the window crank off in a fit of rage, leaving the window wide open perpetually. But there was not time in the world to joke or laugh any longer. His time was running out. And if it did, he would never forgive himself for it.

They pulled up to an unassuming brick building in the middle of the city without warning, and the man shouted for him to get out roughly, his voice thick with impatience. If he wasn't in such a dire predicament he'd fuck this guy up, but he only silently nodded, throwing a well-placed threat to him before picking Ariadne up and stepping out of the car. As soon as it had shut with a sharp click, the taxi had raced off in a blur of yellow toward what had to be the more profitable spots of the city, and he hoped he crashed before that. It would not only erase evidence, but give the guy the karma he deserved. Realizing that standing half naked, sopping wet with a bloody, non-responsive girl in his arms wasn't the wisest decision; he hefted her up and started toward the stoop. The sidewalk was low to the street and cracked in several places from subsiding after the concrete had been poured and he tripped twice on cracks, stubbing his toes without much of a reaction as he raced up to 1250. When he got to the door—a peeling red one with an eye slit in the top, he rapped quickly and impatiently, ringing the bell for good measure before stepping down one step so that the man could see the dire situation at hand.

It took a second, but then the eye slot was slid open, and the gruff, slightly Greek voice of a man who was probably very unpleasant appeared, rumbling a quick "What".

Taking a deep breath, he stated; "Arthur sent us."

"Arthur? I don't know any Arthur." He started to close the slit, and Eames jumped, growing more panicked.

"He said to tell you the bell tolls for thee."

The man paused, his chocolate eyes scrunching and he sighed, his breath coming quickly. "What?" He was more tentative now.

"I don't have time for this. She's in trouble and needs help. He said to tell you the bell tolls for thee. He said you'd understand."

The man nodded, closing the slit with a bang. And seconds later the door was thrown open, and he was being ushered inside and led down a cramped, clean hallway and into a sterile bedroom. Laying Ariadne down on the bed, he removed her sopping shoes and most of her clothes, before tucking her under the standard white sheets, just as the man walked in, a medical bag in one hand, a mask and stethoscope hanging down on his chest.

"What happened?"

"Torture." He replied, holding Ariadne's hand firmly as he perched on the edge. Apparently, that was all that was needed. The Greek snapped rubber gloves on, and fixed the mask to his face before taking out iodine and applying it to her most severe cuts, where the glass had ripped her skin open during her dive through the door. He mumbled to himself every once in a while, while he worked, threading needles and stitching her cuts. And all the while Eames sat on the edge of the bed and mumbled sweet nothings he was sure Ariadne couldn't hear at all. He wondered where Arthur was, and looked for his phone, only to remember he had left in Ariadne's apartment when they had been captured. He hoped the stick-in-the-mud was ok, but there was a part of him that couldn't help but hope he was drowned. Because that meant he had a greater shot with Ariadne.

Arthur

He waited, watching as Eames and Ariadne plunged into the water, before turning and sending a silent prayer for their safety. The sirens in the distance were getting louder, and the ambulance had already arrived, circling the front of the parking lot on the other side of the building. He was still shielded from sight by a large slab of concrete that had once been the roof, although he knew that if he didn't get out of there soon he would be the center of questioning. And the French got awfully upset if you blew up one of their buildings…no matter what the purpose of it was…intentional or not.

Running across the parking lot despite his broken ribs, broken jaw, and cracked ribs, he dove into the bushes just as the police arrived and he watched as they cut a path through the debris to the back of the lot, stopping just feet from where he was standing. A few officers in black and white jumped out, guns drawn as they made their way carefully toward the destroyed building, their heads whipping around them to take in the damage and surrounding tree line. One shouted about the river, and a few pounded over, peering over the edge. One cursed, the rest laughed and they turned, walking slowly back to the site. Something was off. These men weren't acting as professionals. And then it hit him as one of the them popped open the truck and pulled out a camera.

There was a black plastic trash-bag. And inside one, just peeking out, was the unmoving, dead eyes of a police officer. These men were more of Lewis' men. And he could tell that they were quite fine with the possibility that their boss was dead and buried in the rubble, his body broken. The only consensual agreement was that it was a shame that the blonde had been killed before they had all had a go with her—apparently she was quite the slut. Rolling his eyes, his head whipped to the side when another police siren was heard. All at once, the cameras were stowed away, and the fake nurses from the ambulance started to spew out medical terms as they came, as they started to shift through the rubble.

The badge of the man that got out of the car told Arthur that this man was Sheriff Je'loux and that he was, although a genuine cop, very clueless. He barked orders, surveying the site before jumping on the phone and calling for an examiner. The other officers in the area were grumbling and shooting looks at the man, and Arthur worried he was about to witness a murder when the examiner arrived. He was an old man, of 65, with graying hair and a stooped back. He was constantly smiling despite the situation at hand, but he patted Je'loux on the back before examining one of the bodies that had been lying in a pool of blood, just outside the blasted doors of the cargo bay.

He had just turned, when his blood froze. Je'loux was holding, in his hands, a golden, slightly tarnished and soot covered charm bracelet. His blue eyes crinkled, his black, wavy hair shining in the street lights as he turned it over in his hands, studying it. And that's when he realized what it was. It was the charm bracelet that he had given Ariadne on their second anniversary. And if it was traced to the store it was purchased in, it would lead to his alias. And if it led to his alias, then there was a slight chance, however small, that they would be able to trace that to his original name. The name on his birth certificates—because there was only so many places he could destroy the damned thing—and if that happened, they'd be able to trace his whole life…and find Cobb. And if they found Cobb, living in the United States it would be an international case, one that would go very public. Which would undermine the Inception…even bring Robert Fischer Jr. on their heels. And not even Saito could save them from that horror.

His mind was working on overdrive, but he could do nothing. And with the thought of Ariadne in her current condition floating it he back of his mind, he could do nothing but turn and right down the name on the badge and the license plate of Je'loux before turning and slinking away into the night, toward a storage facility half a mile away which held a very beat up Ford pickup belonging to his deceased grandfather. And if he could get to that, he'd be able to reach Eames and Ariadne—assuming they weren't dead and drowned in the freezing water, at Stephan's house. Squeezing his eyes shut to control his emotions, he jogged away, hiding in the shadows to escape detection. He would be on edge until he got to the hideout. And only then would he relax—slightly.

Eames

The procedure was done. That was all he knew. Ariadne lay on her back, her chest slowly rising and falling beneath the covers of the linen as her eyes rapidly moved beneath her lids. So far, the man, who had identified himself after an hour as Stephan, said that he wasn't certain about how fast that she would recover, only that she would recover. At what pace he knew not, only that the damage would be reversed slowly at first, picking up speed as the process went along. He was just as exhausted as she was, but he refused to sleep and he kept a tight grip on his gun. He would wait until Arthur showed up. He didn't trust knew people very well, and something about Stephan didn't seem right to him. Something was off. There was a secret in Stephan that, in the back of his mind, spelled disaster for himself. For Arthur. For Ariadne.

Turning, he rested his head on the wooden table, leaning back in the old wooden chair which creaked and groaned audibly under his shifting weight. Minutes and seconds were dragging into years and decades. Time, which he knew he couldn't control seemed to mock him in his helplessness and he wished he could somehow speed it up.

He had just started to drift off to sleep when he heard muffled voices in the living room, and the front door creak open hesitantly. Glancing at Ariadne's face—which had recovered some of the color he was sued to seeing—he kissed her hand and stood, making his way toward the door.

Arthur was leaning against the door while Stephan talked, his voice low and soft. Arthur nodded twice before standing, his swimming eyes hardening when he rested them on Eames. Pushing past him, he opened the bedroom door softly, glancing at Ariadne before closing the door with a soft click, before turning back to him. His serene face hardened to a scowl, and he tensed, ready for the fight that was at hand.

"You didn't take care of her like I fucking expected you too."

His words were hard, and Eames scowled. "You didn't take care of her at all, so who are you to judge my actions?"

"Who do you think you are? You can't just play with her like that. Stephan says she looked half drowned when she arrived. What did you do…swim for a few hours before deciding it might be a good idea to get her some help?"

He momentarily saw red, but forced it down, his fists still shaking. "The banks, Arthur, were steeper than expected and I had to wait to find a softer bank to get us out of it. And that took a damn while. If you were so worried about her, then why didn't you take her?"

He glared. "I had to make sure the police didn't find anything of significance that could link us to what happened."

"And? Did you feel important, playing spy?"

He scoffed. "Go fuck yourself."

"Ha. I probably could. But that's because unlike you I have a dick."

Arthur growled. "Yeah…you have a dick alright. Which probably is infected with all sorts of STD's you fucking fucker."

"Is that the best you can do Arthur? You really have no imagination. I don't know what she sees in you."

"She sees plenty. Which is more than she sees in you."

"Oh? Is that what you hope she feels toward me? Or is that what you plead her to think."

"No. It's what she tells me. At night. After we've _made love_. "

He gritted his teeth. "You mean after the twenty seconds it takes for you to cum…after she's faked it?"

"She doesn't have to fake anything. Unlike all you're whores. I'm sure they have to picture their dream guys while you fuck them."

"Oh I'm sure Arthur. That's why there're no complete sentences from them for the rest of the night."

"She tells me she feels sorry for you. She tells me she wishes you loved yourself more. That you didn't whore yourself out to whatever blonde bimbo you met…like that girl you forged in Inception."

He slammed his fist into the wall. "That was my sister you son of a bitch." In the background, Stephan mumbled something about being careful of the pictures.

"Eames. I didn't know you believed in incest."

"You better watch before you make me so mad I kick your ass."

"I'd like to see you try you overgrown bear."

"At least I'm not inclined to dress like a prissy homosexual man who has no clue what it means to come from a working family."

"You came from a wealthy family yourself. Don't think I don't know that."

"Don't think I don't know that your mother and father hated you and loved your brother and sister and that's why you're so cold and false. You're trying to prove to everyone else that you aren't what your parents thought of you: a useless, pathetic, twerp."

"Take that back." Arthur glared, his face half shadowed in the minimal light of the hall lamp.

"Or you'll do what? Buy another Armani suit?" He leered, leaning forward.

"Don't think I don't know about your poor mommy. Did you even care that she suffered before she died? You must not of, you were too busy getting thrown in jail for a bar fight the night she passed."

Tears welled in his eyes. "Son of a bitch. At least Ariadne made out with me before we got kidnapped."

He saw the way Arthur recoiled. He shook his head. His own bitter tears welling in his eyes. "She wouldn't."

"She was so devastated and angry because you had been a little bitch and listened to Cobb…again. When are you going to think for yourself Arthur? Or don't you have a brain? She got so pissing drunk I had to come over to make sure she didn't pull a Mal. And then she pulled me onto the couch and _kissed me_"

Before Arthur could say another word, Ariadne was screaming in her bedroom. They made eye contact again once, in a silent communication of hatred before running into her room. She looked frightened, and bewildered, and confused. And when she saw them she recoiled against head board.

"Who are you? Where the hell am I?" She stared between them, her face now pale with fear.

"Shh…Ari. It's me. It's Arthur. You're safe now." He tried to touch her, but she recoiled, her face a mixture of fear and disbelief.

"Who are you? I don't know you!" she pushed him away, drawing the sheets up to her farther.

They had a problem. Ariadne didn't know who she was.

**ALRIGHT. So again…sorry for that whole going AWOL thing. I didn't mean to do that. And I'm going to try to never let that happen again. So anyway…this story is continuing to heat up, and I've got some exciting twists and action scenes coming up. It doesn't get boring, I promise you that. Haha. If you guys have any suggestions for future chapters, or if you guys wanna tell me who you're rooting for – Arthur or Eames—let me know. It'll help me out later. Thanks for everyone who's reviewed so far. I hope you guys continue to review and read. Your views and comments are really valuable to me. It helps me write better and work harder to make you guys satisfied. So I hope the great reviews keep coming. Thanks again for all of you guys who read and review. If there's anyone who's reading and not reviewing, I do accept anonymous reviews. And it's not to late to start :). Thanks again for reading. Till next time, which should be soon…keep a look out. **

**Thanks. **

**Troypayisbetter. **

**PS: Check out my new Lorien Legacies Fic: Fix You. It doesn't have that many reviews—2 but I'm hoping that'll change as more installments come. And You've Got Mail and Left Behind are coming too. I'd love it if you guys tried those out and told me what you think. Thanks again everyone! You guys mean so much! **


	8. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Hey guys! I'm sorry again. I got even more busy, and then I was helping myself along with procrastination. So I'm sorry for that. I don't own Inception or their characters. Except for Stephan.**

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Arthur

His heart froze in his chest at her words, and his muscles clenched, the breath leaving him. _She didn't remember anything? How far back? Did she remember him? Their relationship? What had happened? What was still happening? About Inception?_

He sucked in a deep, shaky breath, exhaling against the cool sheets as he kneeled on the hard, unforgiving ground, his eyes searching her own chocolate eyes, which were starting to swim.

"Who _are_ you?" She whispered shakily, a dangerous tint to her words. _She was frightened_. _She was frightened of HIM._ The thought made his heart clench and his mouth opened as he tried to search for words. Eames stood behind him in the doorway, looking decidedly stricken.

"Ari…Ariadne." he sat down on the bed, grasping her tiny wrists in his hands and subconsciously running his thumb over her vein. "Look at me." The fear dripping in his voice made her pause in her own fear, and she slowly turned to stare at him.

"Who are you?" She whispered again, but she didn't pull away and he jumped for joy inside of himself.

"You mean…you don't remember?" His voice was dripping with a deep plead he was refusing to acknowledge. His muscles were clenching with a panic he had never encountered before in his life, a realization that once again brought the gravity of his relationship with Ariadne to a head. The danger of being with her. He had always known _something_ like this could happen, but he had always told himself he'd be able, no matter what, to keep her safe.

She shook her head, her eyes darting between him and Eames, who was still frozen in the doorway. "No…" she shook her head, her voice trailing off as her words caught in her throat. He had only heard her do that once, when her father died the year before, four months into their relationship.

"It's me…Arthur…" He searched her eyes for a hint of recognition, calming himself to keep himself from panicking. He wouldn't make her more worried and confused than she already was. And he wouldn't tell her who he was either. He'd let her come to the realization on her own. He wouldn't force a memory that was at the current time suppressed in the remoteness of her head.

"Arthur?..." her eyes searched his face, her brow scrunching as she tried in vain to remember what she couldn't, and a panic started to settle into her when, every time she tried to bring a memory up of him she met a cold, grey wall of nothing. Every time.

"I…I don't know who….I can't remember?..." She threaded her hands through her hair, pushing her bangs back from her face. "I'm sorry…." She whispered, hoping he'd forgive her for her amnesia.

He nodded bitterly for a moment, his distress only showing for a second before it was again replaced by a stony complexion. "It's fine Ariadne. I'm a good friend. This…" he turned and pointed behind him "Is Eames, another good friend of ours."

Eames waved at her, a small thin smile. She could see the worry etched into his beautiful eyes. He wasn't as good at concealing his emotions as this Arthur was. "Ello darling."

She smiled at him as well, knowing somewhere that they were more than acquaintances…had been more than friends and had been through a few things more monumental than most people went through in a lifetime…but what they had done had been a mystery to her.

"Do you remember anything? At all?" Arthur's businesslike tone snapped her back to attention and she turned, shaking her head as her eyes focused.

"What?...sorry…" She paused. " Sitting in class and talking about the mathematical principles of the domes of cathedrals in Europe and the Middle East…" she shook her head. "Then it all goes blank."

_Christ. It was worse than he thought. That was before the Inception. _He knew because he had been watching her at the school for a few weeks before Cobb approached her._ Oh shit….what was he supposed to do now?_ "That's as close as you remember? Nothing else?"

She furrowed her brow, holding her head with a slightly bruised, very thin hand. "Uh…bits and pieces. A kiss….needles. Guns?" she trailed off. "Am I making sense?"

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and gripped the sheet a little tighter in his fist. It was worse than he imagined. But it made sense, and at least she remembered some things…chief among them his lips pressing to hers quickly on the second level of Inception. It wasn't totally lost. Bad time for his ego though….

Stephan was nervously shifting his feet in the corner of the room, the bloody gloves disposed of. His lips were pressed together and he was squinting behind his glasses—an action that he did often, she mused. "Uh…I think that Ariadne should really get some sleep. The procedure really has sapped her energy and she needs to get it back. It's necessary if she wants to make a full, speedy recovery."

Arthur nodded, giving her a concerned look. He fought the urge to lean over and kiss her a soft kiss goodnight, and instead turned and exited the room, pulling Eames by the arm out of the doorway. They waited in the hall, with a good respective four feet between them, waiting for Stephan, who silently shut the door a few minutes later.

"She needs her rest. I've given her morphine to sleep and to ease the pain, but she needs quiet. And that means no more macho bullshit in my house, or you two can find another damn safe house. I suggest you two get comfortable. It'll be a week at least before she can move around. She had severe injuries, and a minor case of hypothermia from long exposure to tributary water."

Arthur nodded. "Do you have Wi-Fi?"

He nodded. " The connector is in my office, two doors down on the left. And you…the television is downstairs in the basement. ESPN is on 223. Get comfortable. And bring a blanket. There's no heater in this house and it's still forty down there."

Eames

The week progressed slowly from that point, and he found his eyes straying from the television screen to the small clock hanging haphazardly from the wall. Every tick on the clock was another moment that he spent alone, in near darkness.

The basement hadn't been too bad at first. It was furnished, with scuffed and faded hard wood floors and damp, moldy couches. The bathroom worked, although the one mirror had a long crack in it and the shower door had been broken off long ago. And the television had over 300 channels that he could enjoy. The strangest part of the trip, he found himself discovering, was not that he found himself increasingly attracted to Baseball, but that he was becoming more and more Arthurish as life progressed.

His sarcasm was increasingly being replaced by seriousness and routine took over his once spontaneous life. And another thing; coffee, which he had so detested and stuck up his nose for when Arthur drank it, was quickly becoming one of his best friends. He was finding that he was drinking two to three cups of the stuff each day, black with a little sugar. Not to mention the fact that his smile had quickly turned to a stressed, half scowl which only left his face when he walked into Ariadne's room to talk.

_Ariadne_. The name pained him. The image of her in bed with bandages made him feel dirty and guilty. If he hadn't been unable to break out of the chains he might have been able to help her and she wouldn't be as beaten up. If he hadn't given up trying to climb the walls, maybe her injuries would have been less severe. Maybe if he hadn't been kissing her, and had been paying attention they wouldn't even be in this mess. Not that he regretted kissing her. He never could…never would. Arthur be damned.

It was currently Sunday. The beginning of the second week of their residence here, in the secret lair in the cramped town house in the middle of the shadiest part of the city. He still tensed when a cop car drove by, but he no longer reached instinctively for his empty gun holster. He was sitting upstairs at the small, round, cluttered kitchen table, sipping bitterly at a cup of cold coffee, (black with no sugar thank you). Stephan had left an hour ago for food, after realizing finally that his supply was too low for anything more than a snack and had promised to be back an hour from now with enough food to last them a month. The thought alone made him want to jump out of the window.

Arthur had disappeared into the study, having commandeered it on their first day. If he passed by quietly, he could just peek in and see him in the darkness, hunched over his laptop, the light of the screen illuminating his face. His skin was becoming pale, and the dark circles were becoming more prominent. Evidence that he wasn't eating and was sleeping even less. They hadn't spoken since their fight, and Eames could feel the rift widening with each day. He needed to say something, but what that was he couldn't quite understand.

He was just about to knock on the door when Stephan came in laden with bags and he helped him carry them through the hallway to the kitchen instead, helping Stephen sort them and put them away while snacking hungrily on a few items during the process. Arthur joined them in the kitchen a while later, and the three settled into another silence again. Ariadne was again sleeping, the morphine circulating her veins and wiping the pain from her so very effectively.

They were sitting down now, with meat and cheese, lettuce, tomato, and condiments spread out around them, a variety of bread on the table. The three of them stared down at their food as they made it, none of them talking although once in a while fingers brushed each other's and they retracted quickly.

"Darling, pass the mustard?" He asked Arthur…the first sentence in over a week and it was that? But he was happy to see that he obliged without an insult…not that he was really ever in the mood anymore to play that game anymore. He honestly had no idea how Anne Frank could live three years doing this.

He had just started to spread it on one of his slices when they heard hushed whispers coming from outside the front door. For the second time since they arrived, a very real fear gripped him entirely and he stood up quickly, the mustard covered knife gripped tightly in his hands, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. Behind him, Arthur stood, a gun he didn't know existed cocked in his hand.

"Stephan…are you expecting visitors?"

"Nein…" he muttered, a serious, violent look in his eyes. Stephan, he realized, was ready and all to willing to fight, and Eames suddenly felt a whole new respect for him. "Get the miss and head to the basement. In the shower, there is a loose panel of tile, almost indiscernable to the naked eye. You'd have to know what you were looking for to see it. Push on the third tile from the bottom, and the panel will slide back to reveal a passage. Once inside, tap the left wall, and the panel will close. Follow it all the way untill you see the red sign. DON'T go past it. Do you understand?"

Arthur nodded seriously. "And you?"

"I am the only one listed as living here. It would be suspicious if I didn't show up, since my car is parked outside. I'll go to the door." At the look from Arthur he rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. These sons of a bitches will wish they had never met me by the time I'm done with em. If I'm not alive by tomorrow, go to the Hotel Cambridge. Go to the mail room. Slot 851. A letter addressed to Colonel Marcus Farth. That's for you. It will tell you what to do next."

"Is something bigger going on?"

Stephan left the room, and returned with a duffel bag, which when set upon the table made a heavy metallic click. He didn't have to guess to know what was inside of that. "Isn't their always?"

"And you didn't tell us before?" he was a little indignant, and well…pissed off.

"You didn't ask."

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ariadne

She was drifting on a lagoon, in the South of Italy, with Arthur. Every so often, he would toss a grape at her, and she would try to catch it in her mouth, giggling if she missed, and giving a small triumphant cheer if she made it. The small wooden rowboat rocked gently in the small waves rippling across the water, and the sunlight beating down on them was comfortable; not to hot, and not too cold.

She had just been staring into the deep blue waters, her fingers gliding just under the surface when she suddenly felt a strong rock in the boat and turned to look. In Arthur's spot now sat Eames, with an open shirt and cocky, sexy grin. She could see his smooth, rippling chest and almost smell his aftershave and she was just leaning in suddenly to kiss him when it suddenly felt like it was an earthquake.

The ground around them rippled. The trees fell with a crash into the water and the rowboat was filling with water that slopped over the side and into the boat. The clouds were falling from the sky, the sun itself darkening and the stars were falling. And Eames was now not really Eames. He looked like it, but when he called her name it was distinctly Arthur. He was reaching out to grab her…and then the boat turned over, and she was pitched into the water with a yelp.

She sat up straight, gasping for air as she looked around. Someone had her arm in a tight grip, and was shaking her furiously. That someone was Eames. He still had a knife in his hands and for a moment she was sure that he was going to kill her with it. But then she noticed his eyes—the same ones from her dream…and the fear laced behind it.

"We must go. People are here for us…people that will kill us if they find us."

Her eyes widened and she almost protested when she heard the bang on the door. Scuttling out of bed, she winced when her feet touched the cold floor and pain erupted down her back. Eames was stuffing the morphine bottles into his pockets and she sighed in relief again, watching as he quickly slid in the medical bags and IV bags. "Time to go love."

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her from her room and together they raced down the hall as quickly as she could go, Strangely enough, she found herself doing the oddest things; studying the décor of the room and analyzing how she could change it for the better. Even at a time like this, she was still steeped in architecture and design.

Arthur was leaning against the railing and her eyes widened when she saw the gun cocked in his hands, though she stayed quiet and followed them downstairs to the basement. She briefly saw a flash of Stephan, who nodded to her before she was in a dank and tolerable basement.

"What are we doing here?" she mumbled, even as they made their way to the bathroom and Arthur started to slide his hands frantically down the tiled walls.

"Stephan has a hidden passage that'll let us escape. If I can only find it…..THERE" he pressed in a regular looking tile and a portion of the wall slid back, revealing a dark foreboding passage. He grabbed her hand and started to pull her in but she refused, pulling back and stumbling back into Eames' back.

"No…no way. I hate tight spaces…I hate them. And I don't know what's going on or who the hell you two are or what's happening and you could KILL me down here and…" Arthur gave her a look, and she shut her mouth.

"If you don't come with us then they'll kill you. NOW we have to go! Please trust us! Trust ME." He was pleading with her and she moved a strand of hair from her face, nodding.

"I don't know why, but something in me is screaming for me to trust you. So I'll listen to you…just…please don't deceive me Arthur. I couldn't take that."

Upstairs the door splintered, and loud rat-tattting echoed down the hall; gunfire.

Arthur pulled his eyes from the ceiling. "We have to go. Come on Ria."

The name jolted her memory. Standing in a park with him, so close that she could feel the power in his arms and the bone in his hip. Going out to dinner in a restaurant that was so expensive an entire month's rent could be spent on one meal, laughing quietly in the muffled, romantic light. A kiss against a lamp post in the snow, their cheeks rosy from the biting cold, flakes stuck in their dark hair.

Shaking her head, she was brought back to reality when another round of gunfire was heard. Eames was becoming agitated, his hand clenching and unclenching the knife. She nodded, and took their hand.

And together they entered. The walls and floor were dirt, and there was no light at all. She whimpered when her back hit he wall, and she focused her mind on staying alive and close to her two companions, keeping it off of the fact that she was underground in a space no bigger than a 24x12 box.

Arthur slide his hand down the left wall, and he pressed a small round button set into the side of the wall. There was a small scraping sound, and the tiled wall began to slide back into place, the gunfire becoming more muffled as it closed. And then with a click, the wall set back in plunging them into darkness.

They were alone. And blind. And safe.

**I'm so sorry guys for the long hiatus. It won't happen again I promise. I hope you liked this chapter, it's got a little mystery, a little amnesia, and hey…you finally got to learn Arthur's pet name for her. The next chapter should be both longer and more interesting, but again if you guys have any more ideas or things you'd like to see in it feel free to tell me. :)**

**Please keep reviewing, it means the world to me. And thanks to everyone who's read. There's so much great stuff, it's amazing to me that you even chose me to read. :) So thank you. Please Review!**


	9. Down the Rabbit Hole

**So. Thank you to both Glee Plane and Legal-Assassin 006, and Miss Caitie Jo for reviewing the last chapter! I'll admit, the lack of reviews did somewhat enhance the amount of procrastination that came before this chapter. But here it is at last. I hope you guys enjoy it. **

**I don't own Inception and its characters. **

Down The Rabbit Hole

Eames

There was a very low curse from somewhere to his left in the darkness and he blindly turned, his eyes dumbly searching for what he knew he couldn't see. Arthur was slowly moving along the cold dirt wall, his hands splayed out in front of him as he blindly moved, his hand searching the wall they had just come through for something he couldn't figure out.

Behind him, Ariadne shivered against the other wall, the loose dirt underneath them shifting as she slowly lowered herself down to the floor. Oh he remembered, she was deathly frightened of closed, dark spaces. Although he felt like he was floating alone in an increasingly heavy darkness, he turned his head in the general direction and smiled down. "Breathe darling. You're safe I promise."

Turning, he searched out the faint outline of Arthur, still searching the wall. "Anytime would be good darling. You know they won't be far behind." He felt a cold shiver run up his back and he shook his head, looking down. It was horrible to say, but the truth was sometimes horrible wasn't it. There was no way Stephan was going to make it out of that building to meet them. They were going to be back on their own.

"I know, I know. Just…cool it ok?" He sounded frustrated and frightened and very unlike himself. It unnerved himself more than he thought it would. He was grumbling and muttering to himself, too low for him to understand but enough to know that he was becoming nervous now.

It took a few minutes, but then he suddenly straightened up. "Aha. Found the little bastard." He pressed something on the wall, and there was a loud, metallic clicking sound. Seconds later, there was a buzzing sound and then lights overhead flickered on, blinding them. When he could finally see, he looked around him to see the others. Ariadne had a surprised, impressed look on her face. Arthur held an accomplished, relieved look. And when he looked up, he smiled and laughed.

Along the ceiling, bolted to a long metal beam, industrial lights hung down. They were all connected by a thin yellow cord like a party streamer which arched downward and then up again in small humps between the lamps. Although it was dull, the lights lit the passage and he next looked ahead.

The tunnel went for a few kilometers before turning in a sharp bend, obscuring the rest of the path. He scrunched his eyebrows, and then turned to Arthur who was assessing the situation.

"How far does this go?"

"I don't know. It looks as if it's a couple kilometers though at least. I'm guessing at least nine before we hit the bend. After that…" he shook his head "I just know we go untill we hit a metal ladder, and then we climb."

"So basically, we just better get started."

Arthur nodded in consent, sighing before starting on down the tunnel. Because the tunnel was so narrow, at times their shoulders bumped together and he gritted his teeth to stop the anger from bubbling up. Lashing out would only further complicate their situation. Behind them, Ariadne was shuffling slowly, her hands clenched into fists. She had agreed to go with them but she still had no memory of them, and he guessed she was still wary. He figured it was best not to alarm her by pointing it out.

-Later-

Two hours into the tunnel and they still hadn't reached the bend, and he was starting to notice that the temperature was rising. Already he had shed his outer jacket to leave hanging limply over his arm, as if the fabric was drooping in the heat. And his tie had been loosened enough to let the neck on his skin breathe.

But worst of all…the tunnel was starting to shrink. Before, the lights hung a few feet above his head. Now…now they almost grazed his head. He and Arthur in fact, had shifted. Now, he and Arthur were moving along the wall with Ariadne in between them. She had come to meet them when the lights had started to space out, and the shadows had started to grow.

Turning his head, he glanced over his shoulder to Arthur, who was wiping his brow. "This damned tunnel better end soon."

He nodded. "We're almost at the bend now. After that, I have no idea."

"Where does this go anyway?"

"It goes into the commercial section of the city, about six miles away even with a straight shot."

He frowned, his brows meeting. "What? You mean we have to walk at least six miles just to get to where we need to be?"

"This section is a little over five miles anyway. At the bend though, the incline is going to dramatically change though. It'll get tougher. The ladder opens up onto a main street. We're going to look ridiculous, and draw suspicion so we'll need to move fast to draw the least amount of attention."

"And this opens up onto a busy road?" Arthur's silence confirmed his fear. "So we might get hit by a bloody car trying to get out of here."

"Better than getting shot up above now."

He gave him a look. "I beg to differ darling."

They lapsed into more silence, their heavy breathing and the shuffling of their feet the only sounds to hear as they moved further along the tunnel. By now, the lights were spaced a part far enough that a few feet of the tunnel were intermittently devoid of light. It was in these sections that they sometimes stopped to recuperate from the heat and their exhaustion. The bend was in sight, and they all sped up, momentarily forgetting to remain silent and Ariadne and he cheered when they reached the bend. Arthur came up seconds later behind them, looking grim.

"Why the long face, darling?"

"You were too loud. They could have heard us and now be sneaking closer."

"Who? Those bastards from this morning? No. We would have heard them, wouldn't we?" HE didn't sound very convincing, even to himself.

"That's not the only reason."

"What's the other, Arthur?" Ariadne's voice was clear, and stronger. She looked better, and even though her face was shiny with sweat, she looked healthy and beautiful.

"Just look."

They turned, their mouths dropping open. Ahead was a split tunnel. The right section sloped upward, and was lost to view by the original tunnel's ceiling. On the left side, the path continued, the lights brighter and whiter yet older and they flickered eerily. It looked like a set for a horror movie.

A few hundred feet down this tunnel, was a stone arch with a strange language written on it.

"Ex Vitualamen of Licentia Adveho Pacis? What language is that?"

"Latin." Arthur's comment sounded offhand and had the tone of something that was asked quite often.

"And it means?"

"From the Sacrifice of Freedom Comes Peace."

Ariadne blanched, and Arthur looked downright depressed.

"That sounds…horrifying."

"Arthur, what are we caught up in?"

He shook his head. "We shouldn't go down that way. We're obviously supposed to move up."

"How do you know?" Ariadne asked, her voice still quiet and her eyes far off. She was caught up in her own thoughts by the inscription carved into the rock.

"Look."

There, on the wall, was a red piece of scrap metal. The sign.

Arthur

They moved quickly up the slope until they were in the second chamber of the tunnel. The tunnel, in this part, was steep and they held on to the tips of boulders that were protruding from the dust so that they didn't slide back to the original tunnel. They weren't that much farther from the ladder, and once they got there they could modify his game plan to perfection.

Ahead of him, was Ariadne, struggling up the hill with one small bag slung over her back. The contents of the bag, mostly cash and ammo, were light and easy for her to carry and she periodically stopped to check to make sure the bag was still on her. Ahead of her was Eames, who was efficiently climbing ahead, testing rocks and boulders, finding footholds and handholds, and making sure the path was clear.

They had just reached a precarious section of the rock when he heard it. The faint sound of leather shoes and industrial boots crunching over the dirt behind them. And then he heard the swear. His muscles tensed, his blood ran cold. The murderers had found them. They had killed Stephan and they had found the door. They were close behind.

Calling softly, he motioned Eames and Ariadne to stop, which they did. Eames heard the men seconds later, Ariadne not far behind. Thoughts of bullets riddling Ariadne's body entered his mind but he pushed it out from his mind. They wouldn't get to her so long as there was air in his lungs. And, at this incline they had the advantage.

Eames slowly set down his bags, propping them up against stones before slowly moving back to him. He froze once when he lost his footing and sent a shower of rock down the hill, but quickly recovered and started back down quickly.

Guns were drawn slowly, and they held their breath while they cocked them and unfastened the safety button. They were taking no chances. They weren't going to have time to pick up their guns or fire on them. They would be dead.

In the darkness, Arthur could clearly see Eames' fear. Eames wasn't used to fighting underground with limited ammo on a slope. Usually, he was all game for new challenges. But now that Ariadne was behind them, it was a whole different story. There was a new emotion blossoming for both of them, one that was both foreign and pleasant. It was love.

The men were just becoming visible now at the bottom of the incline, their heads swiveling up to see what lay above them. Ariadne pressed herself into the wall, her eyes squeezing shut. A blonde man below shouted and pointed upward toward them. Guns were being raised.

And then they all fired.

**Dun…Dunnn…DUNNNNN. Haha. Thanks for reading this. It was a lot of fun to write, and I was a little bummed when I realized it was best to end it here. Now I'm getting into the next chapter already! SO a faster update is inevitable. Reviews do help the process though ;)**

**Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. It really means a lot that you like the story so much. 3 Julie and Josh.**


	10. Escape and Evasion

**Hey you guys! Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm really sorry for not sending you a message for it, but currently Fanfiction is having some problems and I am not receiving notifications. But I sent in an email so I'm sure it won't be a problem for much longer. I hope it doesn't dissuade you guys from sending us any more reviews. We really do love and appreciate them. **

**This chapter was one of the few that Josh has had in his mind since this story was born. So, he's been really looking forward to it. I hope you guys like it as much as Josh does. **

**Disclaimer: We do not own Inception, or its characters. We only own this plot, and our bad guys. Hehe. **

**ENJOY :) **

Ariadne

The gunfire was loud, and she slammed her eyes shut, her mouth falling open as a scream ripped from her throat. Pressed against the dirt wall, the gravel and loose stones pressing into her back sharply she cringed at the sound ripping from the guns all around her.

It was so loud, and she couldn't imagine how she would be able to hear a thing after this. Arthur and Eames were leaning back, the small of their backs against the dirt and their guns held in front of them, blasting away at the men below, who were diving into the dirt to create as much protection as they could as they fired up toward them.

Bullets were whizzing past her face, moving her hair like a curtain in the breeze and she whimpered, lowering her head into her arms as she curled up into a ball against the wall. Bullets were now whizzing past her, slamming into the walls and small clumps of dirt were falling from above and around her. She screamed again, and lay down on the floor, her body shifting with the incline and she gripped the dirt in a panic, her heart pounding and her hands shaking with adrenaline.

She struggled to make herself bring her eyes up to look at Eames and Arthur, and she finally succeeded after a few moments. Arthur and Eames had a deadly sheen of sweat on their faces, and they looked almost deathly ethereal as their guns fired. Empty shells clattered to the ground and rolled down the dirt as they held in the trigger, and a few flecks of blood were splattered on their faces from the men below them.

A few lay dead below on the ground, their brains and guts spread out in sick pools on the dirt, congealing quickly on the ground around their bodies. It looked too gooey and red to be blood, to fake and like something out of some cheap Hollywood movie and she cringed at the metallic smell flooding the stale air, mixing with the smell of discharged gun.

She didn't understand. Why was this happening to her? This had to be a mistake. She didn't belong next to these two extremely good looking men. She certainly didn't belong in the middle of a firefight half a mile down under the streets of Paris. She belonged in her apartment, working on models for Professor Miles' class. She had to keep her game up if she was going to get into one of the most prestigious architecture firms in France. That was what she had been working toward her whole life wasn't it?

But at the same time, something pulled in her chest. Something about what she was embroiled in was oddly familiar to her, and the excitement of it scared the hell out of her. And even though she could be mere seconds from her death, she seemed to feel an impossible amount of safety next to these two men. As if she had known them for so long that she trusted them with every fiber of her being.

The gun that had been shoved into her hand was a familiar weight. And she found herself reaching for it before she was even clearly thinking—which she couldn't be because Ariadne Perrault did NOT fire guns—and was letting out round after round into the crowd of men below shooting up at them.

She hit one in the shoulder. Another was hit in the throat, and he slumped into the ground where he laid, his chest unmoving. The men around him didn't even bat an eye. They just filled in the spot he had been in seconds before and kept shooting, even as their numbers dwindled. Why weren't they running? Why weren't they surrendering? Didn't they KNOW that it was a mathematical certainty that people shooting from on high had the upper hand over those on the ground? They had the advantage.

Click. Click. Click.

The man named Arthur glanced down at his gun and swore, his eyes locking onto Eames' for only a moment before Arthur was up against the other wall, reaching into the duffel for another magazine. Eames continued to shoot, and she figured she was obligated to help him keep up the lag Arthur had created with his absence.

"Any time darling would be good."

"I'm going as fast as I CAN Eames, shut the fuck up."

"Both of you stop bitching and make them STOP!" She screamed, firing another round into a man's skull.

There were three more, but they were getting smart, and they were starting to back off. The overhang would become their friends in a few seconds and they would force them down to finish them off. That would only do one thing; make it easier to pick them off one by one. It couldn't happen. They had to be killed and it had to happen now.

The other two seemed to realize just this as well for they glared down at them, as if offended by the defensive maneuver they were trying to take. As if they shouldn't do that and just let themselves be killed. Which, although nice, didn't usually happen in the real world and she would be surprised if it started now.

If their escape route was being attacked, then they wouldn't be able to make it out, and so she started aiming behind them, her bullets finding their marks in the dirt in the spots they were trying to back up towards next. Her plan worked, at least in part. One of the men, the one on the left, jumped forward as if he had just been bitten by something nasty, and Eames' gun took care of the rest. The bullet to his head looked like it didn't even hurt him, and he hit the ground a few seconds after the bullet had penetrated his skull.

Two more. Only two to go and then this nightmare could be abated for a while and she was looking forward to that. Ending this gun fight was on the top of her to-do list. That, and finding a mirror. She probably looked disgusting, and although she didn't put too high of a priority on her looks, she took pride in the simple neatness she had come to love. Which, she was obviously lacking.

The men had spread out, and had started backing up again. And to top it off, the one on her side had picked up one of the guns belonging to his dead comrade and was now firing two guns. The bastard. As if he wasn't already a nuisance. If they were keeping one to interrogate, it wouldn't be him. HE would put up too much of a fight. He would be the stupid loyal one that only pissed off his captors. Someone like herself, although that thought was entirely unexpected and raised more questions than she had the answers too.

A few more minutes, and she was starting to see that these two were the best of the group. They weren't going down unless something spectacular occurred, and she was pretty sure that wasn't happening either. Who would be sane enough to try to move closer?

"Blitz?"

The question was to Eames, who was already nodding grimly at Arthur. He turned to her, and his eyes seemed to convey the message that if they died she better run like hell, or kill herself. And then they were doing the unthinkable. They pushed themselves off the ground and forward, hitting the incline on a slide, and with guns blazing they slid toward their attackers. The dust from their slide, compounded by the gun residue in the air and the dirt already falling softly from the stray bullets blocked her view, but when she heard no more bullets, she tensed again, gripping and relaxing her hold on the gun in her hands. She could feel the duffel bag on her left toe. IF she had to, she could probably reach one of the heavier guns, and then she might be able to take out the other two before they had a chance to demolish her.

But those were big might's and she wasn't feeling two optimistic.

That is, untill the smoke cleared. There stood Eames and Arthur, surrounded by a thin mist of blood in the air around them. Mangled bodies lay around them from the firefight, and the man with two guns lay on his back, his chest riddled with bullet holes. His skin was now sallow and his grip was still tight on the two guns he had been holding in his hands, looking decidedly deadly in the dull light even though their wielder was now dead.

She tried to ignore them as she slowly edged herself down the slope. Arthur and Eames had now turned their attention to the other man. Their guns were pointed directly at his chest, and the gun he had been holding had been kicked clear out of his hand, to lay a few feet away, the muzzle pointed at his cranium.

"Who do you work for?" Arthur's voice was low and dangerous and it frightened her.

The man only glared up at the two boys, before spitting on Arthur's shoes.

"Those were Armani, you idiot. You just go the fashion fairy mad now, didn't he darling?"

Arthur ignored Eames, but he fired his gun, and the bullet passed through the bone in the man's hand. The man howled, and thrashed on the ground, his back arching crazily before he fell to the ground in a flurry of light whimpers.

"WHO do you work for?"

HE shook his head. 'Never. You'll have to kill me."

It was Eames' turn to respond. "Oh, don't worry darling. The only thing you can control in that matter is how quickly and painlessly you go. For instance, if you tell us what we need to know, I'll put a bullet straight through your forehead and you'll be dead before you even know the gun went off. However, if you _don't _tell us what we need to know, then my aim might accidently go awry and the bullet might just blow your dick right off."

The man's face remained impassive, however his green eyes now shown with the faint hint of fear, which they both picked up fairly quickly.

"We aren't patient men. Tell us what we need now, or our fingers might twitch on the trigger accidently."

The man paled again, but he still said nothing, his mangled hand twitching as the blood continued to pour out onto the ground. He grinned. "They'll find you, you know. And when they do, you just better be prepared to die. Because it'll be the end of you. It's ALWAYS the end when they come."

"When WHO comes?" Arthur yelled, pressing his foot into the man's injured hand, and although the man groaned in pain and thrashed, his breath coming faster and the sweat falling faster, he still gave up none of the secrets he possessed.

"One more question. What happened to our friend Stephan?"

The man grinned this time, blood forming at the corner of his mouth and staining his white teeth pink. "He was nothing more than a nuisance and we took care of him fairly quickly. The bastard did kill three of us before we finally got em but it hardly matters now does it?"

"Son of a bitch." Eames growled, stomping on the man's ribs.

The man gagged and coughed some of his blood up into the dirt, groaning as he was kicked again.

"One last time. Who. Are. You. WORKING. For."

The man chuckled, and then rolled his eyes. "If I told you that, it would be cheating. It'd ruin the surprise."

"Well then, I guess you didn't know I hate surprises." And with that sentence, Arthur put a bullet to his chest and turned, to leave him to drown in his own blood.

Arthur

The man had told them nothing, and he was severely pissed. Breathing hard, he turned his head to glance at Eames, who nodded his shared feelings before he turned to the incline. Ariadne was sitting on the ground, her knees pressed to her chest and the gun pointed up to the ceiling, her hands shaking from excess adrenaline and fear. She looked a mess, with dirt covered clothes and cheeks, and her hair falling in messy waves down her face. She had sex hair.

Which was interesting considering the fact that they had just come out of a gun fight. She had done surprisingly well considering the fact that she had lost her memory, but perhaps she had done so well because it had become her instinct, not memory, when it came to guns and their uses. That saddened him a little, because it meant that, in a way, she had become blemished. She was no longer as innocent as he wished she still was, even when she had no clue of the life she was living.

"We need to get out of here before backup appears…or the cops." Eames said, already picking up the guns off the blood drenched ground, kicking the shells in all directions as he carefully stepped. He nodded, and turned to Ariadne, offering her his hand.

"Are you ok?"

She nodded, taking it and using it to help her stand up, her legs shaky on the uneven ground. The gun slipped out of her hands and she jumped, before grabbing it quickly and starting back up the incline to the duffels. She pulled one of them open wide, and held them as Eames filled it quickly with the guns. With that taken care of, they both stood. Her eyes were wide and vacant and he was afraid she might be suffering from mild shock—if h was right they'd have to deal with that latter.

"Should we pat the bodies down for anything?"

Her question surprised him, because it meant she was much more in tune with the situation than he had guessed. He shook his head. "We have more than we need, and more connections than they realize. We'll be ok without what they're carrying in their pockets.

She conceded, but all the same grabbed a knife from its sheath on the belt of one of the men's bodies, slipping it into her jeans pocket and covering the end of the handle from view with the bottom of her shirt. "I'm ready."

She wasn't questioning what had just happened, even though in her mind she was probably screaming for answers. But he had none, and was just as clueless as she was. It was annoying, and he knew there would be some serious study done when they finally got somewhere safe.

"Lets go."

With renewed energy they made it to the top of the incline, where they were faced with a sudden and solid slab of concrete. For a few seconds he thought that they were going to be trapped down here, with no escape and that Stephan had been mistaken or lying when he had brought them down here. But then he noticed the metal ladder set into the concrete in the shadows along the wall, which led both up to a metal sewer cap and down into the darkness of a small round hole, about as large as the width of a grown slim man.

He climbed it quickly and then listened, while below Ariadne and Eames stayed silent, trapped in their own thoughts. There was traffic above, but it was intermittent and there was about a minute's time of space between the flow of traffic and the silence. It fit with the time—it had to be around three, and if the street wasn't exactly busy then that meant that the cars would be dispersed and the road not congested. They had to plan this right. If they were too soon or too late, then they were liable to get hit by oncoming cars.

"Ariadne, come up here." He moved over to the left, allowing her some space to come up beside him. Below them, Eames cleared his throat. "When I say so, I'm going to lift the lid and you're going to get up as quickly as you can and run to the closest sidewalk. Ready?"

She nodded, her knuckles whitening as she clung to the rails.

"Three" Eames breathed from below.

Eames took a breath.

"Two." She whispered.

"One" He yelled, throwing his weight up against the lid. It came off with a hard shove and a grunt and Ariadne scurried up the ladder, squeezing her eyes shut at the abrasive light that flooded the dim passage. She ran to the left, and he climbed up quickly behind her after throwing one of the duffels up ahead of him. Eames was already scaling the ladder and narrowly missed being hit by his heel as he threw himself onto the pavement.

In retrospect, the people in the oncoming cars probably thought it more than strange that three dusty and bloody people had suddenly burst up onto the street carrying heavy duffle bags, but the thought didn't occur to him until much later. At this second, he was surveying the surroundings.

They were in the business section of Paris, next to the Seine and near a shaded park full of wandering tourists. Placing a delicate hand on Ariadne's shoulder he pushed her along down the street and the three marched to the corner, where a taxi was quickly flagged down and they were all inside.

"Where are we going?"

"The only safe place we can go right now."

"Which is?"

"La Cachette"

"The Hiding Place? I've never heard of it."

"That would defeat its purpose. It's made for people like us."

"Which means?"

"You know. You just don't remember."

They arrived at a shoddy, run down building with a foreclosure sign on the front, and graffiti dotting the building. They paid the driver double to keep quiet—and he winked, saluting them and bowing his head to Ariadne as she got out of the car before driving quickly away in the opposite direction.

The lobby was dark, the floor cracked and the fountain in the center lopsided and dry. The ceiling tiles were sagging and stained, and the stairs were rickety and hole-ridden and looked too unsafe to use, although the alternative was an elevator that hadn't been inspected in forty years.

Eames nodded menacingly at the dark man behind the counter, and he nodded, handing out a key after a two hundred Euro was passed over to the cash register. He hated staying in this place, and had only been here three times, once with Cobb, once after a mission in Sao Paulo and once after an unmentionable day a few years prior.

Eames led the way up the stairs, shooting death glares at two men they passed on a landing between floors before they finally got to their room on the sixth, at the end of a hallway near a fire escape. He opened the door warily, gun drawn as Ariadne hung behind them in the hallway, and after checking everything over twice they entered and closed the door, lowering their guard.

Throwing his duffel on the bug infested bed, Arthur unzipped it hurriedly and pulled out three plastic bags.

"Here." He distributed them, and at their confused glances smiled. "A change of clothes. We can't go to a five star hotel looking like we just came out of a deadly African civil war. There would be questions and we'd be on the record."

"I've got the bathroom. Eames takes too long on his stupid hair if he gets it." She looked surprised after saying it, and her hand flew to her mouth. A smile erupted onto his and Eames' face.

"You remembered something!" Eames breathed, pulling her into a hug.

"Maybe…maybe I'm getting better?" She put away, before realization again dawned on how she must look.

"Is the water safe? Or should I wait to get the dust off till we get to the hotel."

"We aren't staying at the Hotel Cambridge long, but don't get a shower here. Everything here is questionable. Just…change and try not to touch anything you don't have too and we'll worry about the grime later."

She nodded and disappeared into the bathroom, where the rustling of her bag could be heard behind the flimsy door.

He and Eames took opposite sides of the room and dressed in silence.

INCEPTION

Half an hour found them outside the Hotel Cambridge at exactly six thirty, just as dinner was being served in the restaurant next to the bar and some of the richest guests were going off to see the jewels of the city.

The gold doors were dazzling and the white marble inside sparkled in welcome, and as he stepped inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was back in the comfort he had worked so hard to achieve when he had started this job. Somehow, it felt like home. The ornate rugs and the clear water in the fountain, gurgling softly in the silence made him sleepy, and the air conditioning felt so good after being in the oppressive heat all day. Even in La Cachette, there hadn't been a working air conditioning unit, and the sweltering heat had made the small room a brick oven.

He stepped to the counter, with one of the duffels and set it down, and before he had to even ring the bell, a man in an expensive suit came out from a doorway in the mahogany wall and smiled at him, his hand sliding over the keyboard. He had a pinched face and black hair, which was slicked back by too much gel. His eyes were shifty and sparkled with charm; which meant he was the perfect manager for a place like this. His ass-kissing had to be as good as Nash's was to Cobol.

"Marcus Farth for check in."

The man typed in his name to the computer, and then checked twice, before swallowing. "Colonel. Let me be the first to welcome you to the hotel. Your rooms are ready, and have already been filled to your qualifications. Has your brother arrived as well?"

_His brother…meaning Eames. _"Yes. My wife and he are over by the fountain admiring the architecture. He drew his eyes to the ceiling, feigning impression. "My wife is quite taken with architecture—she studied it you know, and she thinks the marble trim and the cherubs placed in the corners are delightful." He put on thicker accent, one which sounded like it hailed from the South, and hoped there would be no questions about it. Somehow, he doubted it with this man.

The man smiled. "Ah. Wonderful. We love to please, and glad that she is so satisfied. Let me get our best bellboy and I will personally show you to your suites. I hope your stay with us is a pleasant one." He snapped his fingers and mumbled something in quick French that he couldn't understand and then he was being led away from the duffels and to the elegant brass elevator, with its shining glass and polished buttons. The man was smooth, and by his actions knew full well not to ask questions, unless they were to lesser patrons and even then it would only be to sell the hotel even further.

The manager slipped in a special key—so small that it was almost swallowed by his big hand, and a moment later the elevator was silently moving. The manager busied himself by talking to his 'wife' in quick French and he got lost in listening to her speak. The way she spoke was as if she caressed every word and syllable before she let it slip out and the affect made her seem like she came from a well to do family. And, although he couldn't understand more than a few of the words that passed between them, he was relieved to know that she had at least picked up immediately the role she was to play.

When the elevator doors slid open, he got out first, and Ariadne and the manager came out next, only a few millimeters between them. Eames brought up the rear, looking decidedly amused at the conversation. If only he knew what it was about.

INCEPTION

As soon as the elevator doors had closed again and the manager had disappeared to the lower floors, they erupted into happy cheers. Ariadne ran and leapt onto a very comfortable looking sofa, while Eames threw their doors open, connecting their suites into one giant suite. The effect proved too much for Ariadne, and she fell into happy laughs as she feasted her eyes on the richness of their abode. She had obviously never been to a five star hotel; certainly she hadn't ever stayed in a room as large or as luxurious. And all the while, he just stood there.

It was so nice to finally be back in comfort. Everything looked so comfortable and he didn't know what to do first as he let his eyes roam the room, his body slowly turning as he surveyed the surroundings .

The room was a sort of rectangle. When you opened the door to the suite, you entered onto a rich dining room and living room, complete with hard, dark woods and soft, green wallpaper. A large black marble fireplace was against the wall to the right of the dining table, next to two large bay windows which overlooked the city.

To the right of the dining room was an elegant living room with a large screen TV mounted on the wall. Placed strategically around were comfortable white sofas and two love seats with a hard cherry coffee table placed in the center with a flower centerpiece extravagant enough to cost more than Ariadne's apartment. Up a few stairs brought you to the sliding oak doors which led into the master bedroom, complete with a very rich carpet and a four poster king sized bed large enough to swallow himself and Ariadne with room for three or four others.

To the left was the bathroom, which shining brass nobs and beautiful granite countertops. The mirror was spotless and the lighting was perfect; just right for making the last final touches of elegance before leaving for the evening. The shower was big enough for three—although he seriously doubted any fun would be occurring there and the tub had jets for massages and was just big enough for two. Another reminder of what could have been had he not broken up with her and she hadn't lost her memory.

"This is amazing." She breathed, her hand tracing the furniture around her, as she slowly stood and made her way around the room.

He smiled. "I'm glad you like it."

Eames rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

"How long are we staying here?"

"Not long. We'll go get clothes and stock up on food which we'll hide in our bags. I'm thinking we'll be here no longer than a week."

"If they find us?" Eames hadn't spoken since they had left the dingy motel and his voice sounded thick with disuse.

"Lets just hope they don't."

Eames

"So when does dinner come?"

He was leaning against the wall, surveying Ariadne as she lay against the sofa sketching on scrap pieces of printer paper. Her legs were glossy and smooth, and looked incredibly sexy after her long, hot shower and her hair had just finished drying. It lay in soft curls, her bangs obscuring her eyes, swaying as her hand glided against the paper, leaving trails of graphite. She had just finished a particularly good portrait of himself—and if he could say so himself he looked pretty fucking good—and was starting on one of Arthur typing furiously at his laptop—where he had stashed that he was unsure, but didn't care enough to find out.

"I don't know. Call room service." He sounded slightly annoyed at being disturbed from his search, but he knew from experience that Arthur got particularly hungry during a particularly aggressive search and that since he hadn't eaten much during his stay with Stephan he must be as famished as they both were.

"Is it safe?" It was the first words Ariadne had said in an hour.

He nodded. "By now the manager will have informed his staff that we're here and to make sure anything we want is satisfied. And once they know, then most everybody in the hotel—inside and out—knows that we're here. It doesn't matter if we order room service. If they're coming for us, then they'll find us not because of room service but because of them."

"You've said room service twice in the last thirty seconds."

"Is that funny?" he cocked his head and smiled at Ariadne, his teeth glistening in the light.

"Yeah, kinda. Eames…here's your drawing."

"Well. Thank you darling for making me so devilishly good looking." He flashed her a flirty smile and laughed secretly at Arthur's heated gaze.

Arthur cleared his throat, and Ariadne shot him an inquisitive look. "We're going to have to get our clothes washed and pressed downstairs I think. We're wearing the only other set of clothes you brought and as much as I adore this dress I don't think I can handle wearing it for weeks."

Arthur nodded. "I'll send them down when room service comes. Order what you want, I'll pay."

"Are you sure? It's…expensive."

"Darling, please. He offered. Let the man treat us."

Arthur rolled his eyes but said nothing, before turning back to his typing. There were a few intermittent sighs while he looked at the menu with Ariadne, his face inching toward her head to catch soft wisps of aroma from the hotel shampoo. It was lilac, and it smelled wonderful on her. Ariadne ordered in perfect French, adding on something wonderful for Arthur to eat when he felt like joining them, and then sat down on the sofa once more, tucking her legs against her.

"Tomorrow I'm going downtown early for some shopping. Hopefully there'll be some thrift stores there I can buy clothes in cheaply. I need a fair amount if I'm going to last on this little adventure."

"Perfect. We'll all go together then. Besides, if 'they' are waiting to kill us then we need to stick together and back each other up. Besides that fact they'll go after you first since you're—well…a girl. You need protection."

"Protection? Did you see me back there in the tunnels today? I killed. I kicked ass. And you'd be dead if I hadn't helped."

Arthur sighed, and dropped his pen, turning fully to look at her. This was turning into such a good argument. This was just adding fuel to the fire, and when Ariadne did fully remember what had occurred a little over a week ago, then this would only be there to solidify the belief that she would be much better off with someone other than stick in the mud, boring, unimaginative Arthur. Someone like...him.

"That's…that's not what I meant. What I mean is…the attackers will probably go for you because you don't look threatening. And because you're easier to pick out and because—"

"Because I have breasts."

"Well….well yes but…" he sighed. "What I mean is that you're still injured from that crash you took a few days ago. And because of that, I can't trust that you haven't forgotten the training Eames and I have given you over the months. SO untill you're memory comes back, let's just say that it's our job" he made a sweeping motion from his chest across the room to him and then back to his chest "to protect you."

She huffed, and dropped the pieces of paper she had been drawing on. "Fine." She mumbled. "I just hope that I remember soon, because all this blankness in my head whenever I try to remember anything is really starting to piss me off. And I have a feeling that once you both pissed me off a lot, and that I love you for it…although WHY I do I have no idea, just watching you two has been more than enough to handle…" she paused. "But I also know somewhere that you two are good guys. And I want to remember all the things we have done together. Because we were friends."

He placed a hand on her knee, silently reveling in the fact of how soft and warm it was. And how close it was to her inner thigh. "We are friends."

There was a knock on the door. Dinner was served.

Ariadne

She hadn't stayed up long after diner. With the day's events weighing heavily on her and the promise of a long shopping day ahead of her the next, she had given up any hopes of staying up with the boys. Arthur had already assured her that she could have the bed, saying that he would most likely be up very late doing research and that the couch was just as comfortable in this hotel as the bed she would be sleeping in was.

She had highly doubted, but she hadn't argued. Something in his tone had told her that he had said this to her far too many times before and something in his eyes shined as if with regret. Like he had wanted to say he would be in later. Or even yet…give her a goodnight kiss. She had given Eames a hug—one which turned into a very long and drawn out affair where she was left rocking gently back and forth in his arms smelling his cologne and body while his big arms wrapped around her frame and held her surprisingly softly. But after a few minutes she had felt very awkward and had extracted herself with a smile and a slight yawn. She had meant to give Arthur a hug also but it suddenly didn't seem right when she had reached him, and she ended by placing her hand on his left shoulder, her fingers tracing the outlines of his knotted muscles before she said goodnight and left the room with a weird, slightly empty feeling.

Slipping under the covers, she sighed in comfort as she sunk into the sheets and the pillows, feeling as if she was laying on cloud nine and it wasn't long until she was fast asleep—although from the other room strong words were being said.

…

She was in a stronghold. She was in a stronghold with a man with blonde hair and Eames, and she was leaning over the apparently dead figure of a brunette man in a white parka. At first she had thought that she was staring at Arthur, but everything about this man's face was wrong. His cheekbones were too high. His lips too full and feminine, his eyebrows too manicured and sleek. His hair wasn't professional and sexy, it was limp and messy and he looked like he had never held a gun or fought in his life. No. This was a different man. A man she knew but couldn't name.

Words were being said. Heated words between herself and the blonde man, although what they were she couldn't figure out. There were only a few words distinguishable in the muffled voices, and they made no sense whatsoever to her.

"….limbo" the man said. His voice sounded low and dejected like he had just lost the grand prize of a tournament he had desperately wanted to win.

"….Arthur's music…defibrillator…" That had been her, but what she was saying didn't make any sense. Arthur was nowhere to be found. There was no music. And how would a defibrillator save a dead man?

"Saito's….last Eames." The man said, looking back at Eames who nodded gravely, turning to look toward the far end of the room.

"Mal…" That was her again. But who was Mal? Who was this woman, and how did she fit into all this? There was snow outside the windows. Everyone's voices had grown too fuzzy to understand. She was hooking in a tube to her arm, the blonde man was doing the same looking altogether too grim and unsure. Eames nodded to her, glanced at the dead man, the blonde, and then past her but before she could turn to find out what he was looking at the scene shifted.

She was on a high-rise building, on the balcony. The blonde man was holding onto a woman who was covered with blood in a high furnished, modern apartment. She was miles above the ground and she had no idea how she had gotten here. The brunette was alive he was breathing and gasping for air. And then she had kicked him off the balcony and there was lightning and thunder and she was being sucked out of the building.

"Don't lose yourself." It was the first sentence she had heard during this whole time.

And then she had jumped and fallen, slammed into the ground, woken up to find herself back in the snowy fortress except now it was collapsing. Eames was gone, the floor was breaking up, the blonde man's limp body lay next to her and then she was opening her eyes and she was on a crashing elevator, the noise so loud she felt like she was going to go deaf as she flew up to hit the jagged metal and zapping electrical lights on the ceiling and then finally she was opening her eyes underwater in a car still strapped to her seatbelt.

She flashed again. Working in a warehouse with a bunch of men. There was an Arab man she was sure she had never met before in her life and yet she was talking amiably with this man, joking and laughing as if they were old friends as he mixed what had to be narcotics in glass dishes. The blonde man was there—very alive yet still brooding. Eames was saying something, something that made her scowl and yet laugh and the Arab to fall out of his chair. And Arthur was laughing as well, his back hunched over as he typed away furiously at three different computers, intermittently writing things down on legal pads.

She was making a layout model for a city—except the city had no exits save one and the building were so close together that you could hardly find your way out. It was like it was a maze—a cleverly and almost impossible one and she was making it herself. She was teaching it to the others, who were continuously hooking themselves to the same machine she had witnessed herself hook up to previously, although this must have been an earlier time. They looked so happy.

And then she flashed again. She was in a lobby. In business attire that she wouldn't be caught dead in a million years wearing. It was something so boring and so unlike her. The hotel was modern and posh, and the seat she was sitting in was occupied by another. Arthur as it turned out. They were talking but their voices were again muffled and she could hardly understand what was happening. The blonde man walked by them, not even looking up to acknowledge them and she found that incredibly rude yet when she had turned to look at Arthur he didn't seem affronted by it at all. They were talking again, their voices low and she realized that although he was talking to her as if nothing was wrong his eyes were roaming the hotel lobby, looking for some unknown danger. The building had tilted, a brief rain falling almost directly into the glass. And then it was as if she had been fished out from underwater for now she could almost plainly hear herself and Arthur speaking.

"Quick give me a kiss."

And again the scene had shifted. She was being held strongly by two strangers she had never met. A crowd of angry people were swarming her, pulling her farther and farther away from the blonde man who was screaming and pulling against his own captors. There was a woman of terrible beauty and she was coming toward her. Walking ever quicker toward her with something gleaming and sharp in her hand. She had screamed.

"Cobb! Wake me up! Wake me up~

The man, Cobb, apparently was yelling as well. "Mal! Mal no!"

And then she felt the worst pain imaginable as the sharp object was thrust against her, ripping her skin and spilling her blood and—

"AAHHH!" She screamed sitting up in bed. She was drenched in a cold sweat and she was trembling, the sheets and her pillows strewn about around the room. The doors burst open and she jumped, relaxing slightly when she identified the figures as Eames and Arthur, who looked both ready for anything and still asleep.

Arthur sat down on the bed next to her. "Ariadne. Ariadne what's wrong?"

She gasped, cold air filling her lungs and she coughed her body still shaking. "I…I…there was this mob. There was this mob and it was pulling me away from a blonde man…someone named…someone named Cobb and then this woman came out of nowhere and she….stabbed me."

Arthur looked relieved and saddened. "It's ok Ariadne. It was just a memory."

"A…a memory?"

He nodded. "That was Mal. She's Cobb's dead wife. Cobb was the…boss on our 'project' during the first time you ever did what we do. The only time you ever worked with him. That was the first time I met you." He smiled.

"Arthur…Arthur I don't know what I just remembered but you and Eames have a lot of explaining to do and I mean it now. I don't like what I saw. Jumping off buildings and dying in an elevator? What's happening?"

"You mean what happened love."

She looked up, incredulous. "That…that was real?"

He nodded gravely. "No doubt everything you dreamed was real." He looked sincere and sexy and his voice was husky.

"Real…real? You two better tell me now or so help me—"

"Not now. Later, when you remember more. You aren't ready yet." Arthur's voice was grave again and spoken with finality.

She gasped her mouth falling open. "Not ready? Ready for what?"

Arthur grasped her hand. "The truth. You'll find out when you remember more. This is good. This is what Stephan said would happen when your memory came back…a little at a time some more drastic than others. I'm sorry that these are the first memories that you are getting back, but they haven't come to fruition yet and you won't understand until you remember more."

It took her a few minutes, but she nodded. "You'll tell me though?"

He nodded. "Eventually, when you recollect enough of your memory. Promise me something though, that you'll tell me the next time you get a memory. I want to know."

"Why's that?"

"Because I care."

With that he stood up and herded Eames out of the room. "Goodnight Ariadne. Sleep well"

**Tada! So. It's good to be back. I hope you guys aren't too angered by our long absence. We had finals and then Graduation and now that summer's half over—holy crap can you believe it either?—we're finally back and able to write. I hope you loved this chapter too. It took a lot of time—and a lot of re-watching the movie to try to get the characters right. I hope our work paid off. :) We can't wait to hear what you've thought, so don't be shy. Please review. Till next time. **

**Julie and Josh**


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